Mea Culpa
by RedgeandLilly
Summary: How had one choice gone so horribly awry? Molly Carpenter is on the run, trying to evade her parents and wizardly friends of the family. All she knows for sure is that life is bad when the devil on your shoulder sounds reasonable, and the one playing the lyre sounds suspiciously like Harry Dresden. AU: Cannon Divergence from Death Masks onward.
1. Prologue

Mea Culpa

Prologue

Molly

I'd started with the best intentions, honest.

Okay, so maybe you don't believe me. But it was true, at one point. I think. Right and wrong has gotten really hazy these days.

Life hinges on the choices we make. The good ones, the bad ones, and especially the foolish ones. I thought I'd once heard Harry say something to that effect. He was full of philosophical tidbits like that. Or maybe I was thinking of Confucius and just misattributing it to Harry. They were both wise and venerable and said shit that went way above my head. I doubted Harry would look as good in a Hanfu. I think that's what it's called. She hasn't been talking to me for a while, and she's the expert on these things.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So many choices were made that day. Mine. Harry's, my parents'. I should have argued with mom when she asked me to take out the trash. If I'd been a normal teenager and complained about my chores, maybe it wouldn't have played out the way it did. If I hadn't been so enamored of Harry Dresden, terrified of being embarrassed in front of him, I might have put up more resistance. If I hadn't humored little Harry and brought him outside with me, maybe I wouldn't have done it.

Choices, choices, choices. She'd have me believe that this was all predestined, and that our meeting was fated. I'm not sure I believe it. Why would I choose to go on like this, if I really thought that God intended it? That it wasn't my choice to be exactly where I am now?

I'd had choices. When the car came squealing down the highway past our house, I could have picked up Harry and gone inside. Chicago was a big city with deserved a reputation for crime. Even if the Carpenter house was situated in a good, white-bread suburban community, that didn't mean squat if someone started shooting. Something had flown out of the tinted window as the car sped past. Not a bullet. That spinning shape had been far more dangerous than a bullet. Something metal had sailed over the white fence posts and had landed directly in our yard.

By the time my brain had pieced together what I was seeing, little Harry was already toddling toward it, chubby hands outstretched to seize the metal that glinted darkly in the sprigs of bright green grass that made up the yard. That moment is frozen forever in my head. I remember how painfully sharp my heartbeat had felt inside of my chest, how bile had scalded my throat. I replay it over and over in my mind. Maybe I could have seized him, pulled him away. He was only two, and barely more than thirty pounds. That could have been my choice.

I could have shouted a warning, frozen him to the spot with the terror in my voice. That had been a choice too.

But I didn't. My feet had carried me forward, acting on a fierce protective instinct to preserve my little brother's life. Sunlight glinted innocently off of the raised sigil, looking for all the world like an abandoned, antique coin. I made my choice with the best of intentions, beating my little brother by only seconds. His hand came down on mine, pudgy fingers curling around my pinky with a whine.

And my hand made contact with a blackened Denarius.


	2. Chapter One: Useless

Chapter One

The L chugged past the building on its usual southbound path, rattling the windows as it went. Everything in this building shook when the trains passed, which was often. I steadied the flower pot as it tried to jump once more to its carpety death. It was the only splash of color in the apartment, so I couldn't really fault Rosanna for keeping it. I just wished she'd put it somewhere else, instead of the window sill just above my head.

I sat up, stretching my sore muscles. Sleeping on the floor in a secondhand sleeping bag had been quite a departure from what I was used to (three square a day, a soft bed, and dad's smile—God I missed him) but it was better than being on the streets. I wasn't so sheltered that I didn't have an idea what happened to girls like me if they wandered Chicago's streets alone. So I'd called a friend to ask a favor. I hated to land on Rose and Ken the way I had, but what choice did I have?

I'd felt something the moment my hand made contact with the ancient metal. A presence had brushed against me, and ever since I'd been preparing for the Fallen's hostile takeover of my mind.

Only, it hadn't happened. Well, not as far as I could tell anyway. I wasn't stupid enough to believe it was gone for good. But maybe my haste had saved me the worst of the struggle?

I stood, tiptoeing around piles of dirty laundry. Most of it was Ken's, but I'd still do it anyway as soon as everyone was up. They'd both told me that I didn't have to bother. They'd also tried to offer me the only bed in the tiny studio apartment, and I'd refused. They'd told me I could crash as long as I'd wanted, without worrying about rent. I couldn't do it.

How could I be any more of a burden than I already was? How could I take their bed when Rosanna, only a few years older than I was, was three months pregnant? How could I sit alone all day while they worked to pay the outrageous one thousand dollars in rent they owed every month for this crummy little place? Of course I was going to do my part. I spent my dwindling supply of quarters in the basement of the complex, washing and drying Ken's work shirts.

I set the coffee percolating and sighed, leaning against the counter. There wasn't a whole lot I could do. Unless I wanted to walk the mean streets of Chicago and sell what the good Lord had given me—not a choice I was desperate enough to consider yet—I was short on options. I could legally work in the good ol' U.S. of A at the tender age of fourteen, but there were child labor laws that cracked down on how much I could do. I wasn't going to be contributing much to the rent check.

I'd heard that there were less legal ventures to pursue that didn't involve prostitution, but I was too nervous to seek those out either. Homeless shelters were definitely out. I'd volunteered at a lot of those with the church, and I was afraid someone would spot me. What if they told my father? I didn't need to be within a hundred miles of Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Cross, until I had a handle on this whole Denarius situation.

There was only one way I knew of to get rid of the Fallen. I shivered, despite the heat radiating off the coffee pot. It felt fundamentally wrong to think about my father this way. He couldn't kill me, could he? No matter what I became.

Maybe I'd escaped the worst. I'd slipped the coin into my pocket and out of little Harry's reach, storing it for safekeeping. Then I'd grabbed his arm—with my non dominant hand, so afraid I'd taint him with my touch—and placed my brother back inside the house, shutting the door hastily in his shocked little face. Then I'd dashed across the yard, pausing only to open the gate. Saint Mary of the Angels was further away than I'd thought, having only travelled there by car before. Father Forthill hadn't been there when I'd gotten in, and a disgruntled nun had escorted me back to his office. It had been in a state of cozy disarray, and it had taken me close to fifteen minutes to find what I'd needed. The embroidered cloth was thin, and I folded it carefully over the deceptively small coin.

If he'd found it there, it had to be back at the Vatican by now. Maybe the distance could keep the evil of the fallen from tainting me.

Probably not.

"You're up early."

I jumped. I'd been so focused on the steady drip, drip of the percolator that I'd completely missed her soft footfalls. Rosanna smiled wearily. She didn't look pregnant. Of course, at only nine weeks she wouldn't, especially with the first. The more children you had the easier it became to tell. In pictures, my mother barely showed at six months while pregnant with me. By the time Hope had been born we could spot the growing baby bump as early as the fourth.

She was shorter than me, with a head of dark curls, and she had to stretch to reach the cabinets of the little kitchenette. I almost took pity on her and opened it myself, but refrained. Rosanna wasn't an invalid and didn't like to be reminded how short she was. When she'd finally retrieved a chipped coffee mug from the cabinet, she fished the milk carton out of the fridge and sighed.

"We're nearly out. I guess we need to go shopping soon."

"You don't get paid for another week." I pointed out. "I can get the groceries if you-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Molls." Rosanna cut me off before I could finish the thought. "I'm not making you pay for anything. You're doing too much as it is. I'm not stealing your last dime after you got kicked out of the house. Stay here and get back on your feet. Ken and I will be fine."

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from telling her the truth. I was racking up a tidy little sum of half-truths, wasn't I? My mother and I hadn't been getting along of late, and Rosanna knew it. When I'd turned up on her doorstep, disheveled and in tears with nowhere else to go, she'd made the only logical leap. It wasn't as if I could sit her down and explain the real reasons I'd run away from home.

"I can pony up five dollars for milk." I argued. "I've still got twenty bucks."

I'd gotten lucky. Fate or God or whatever had been looking out for me. When I'd raided the donations bin in front of a thrift store, I'd found t-shirts and several pairs of jeans that fit me. In the back pocket of one of them had been a fifty. It had been slowly eaten away by the machines downstairs and a few necessities I'd broken down and purchased. Though practical, I couldn't bring myself to steal the underthings I'd found in the bin as well. Call me crazy, but wearing someone else's used socks and underwear squicked me out.

Rosanna shook her head. "Just focus on finding a job, okay? We'll be fine."

I turned back to the coffee pot, trying to hide the angry tears gathering in my eyes. I felt completely useless. I was too old to be coddled by Rosanna and Ken, who were seventeen and nineteen respectively. I wasn't their kid sister who needed to be looked after. I'd been riding their couch for weeks, putting them in danger when, not if, the Fallen decided to show its ugly face. I couldn't work regular hours until I was fifteen or sixteen. I couldn't stay here and be a layabout for another year or two. I wanted to do something.

A shout rent the air and I winced. If I strained my ears, I could make out our downstairs neighbor screaming obscenities at his wife. Unfortunately, the sound of James Pearson shouting was as common in these parts as the rumble of the trains.

"They're starting early." Rosanna commented, getting a grip on the handle of the coffee pot. She poured herself a generous measure and replaced it. She measured out a spoonful of milk and stirred it into her coffee thoughtfully. "It doesn't usually start until he gets home at six."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I knew this sort of thing was common. But knowing that marriages weren't always happy and that abuse happened disturbingly often was different than hearing it. I'd gone to sleep more than once listening to Ava Pearson sobbing a floor below.

And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Useless. I was so freaking useless.

Rosanna tossed her spoon into the sink and leaned against the counter. "Don't be so down, Molls. It's all gonna work out."

"Don't forget to go to your meeting after work." I reminded her dutifully. Rosanna was officially three months sober, but I wasn't sure how long it was going to last. She'd promised me that she'd quit when she found out about the baby, but until recently I hadn't been there all the time to be sure she followed through. Unless she was shooting up in the bathroom at work, she'd kept her promise.

"I won't, mom." Rosanna rolled her eyes.

Ken woke up and greeted us both blearily. Rosanna prepared oatmeal-apparently my cooking was so awful that she didn't trust me with microwaved water and oats anymore-and we shared a quiet breakfast, occasionally punctuated by a shout or a thump from the floor below.

Shouldn't I be doing something to stop that? My father would. I had a satisfying vision of James Pearson on the receiving end of my father's fist.

Ken and Rosanna left for work half an hour later, and I debated overruling her decision and going to the store anyway. After all, milk was a staple of the kitchen. All my mother needed to whip up a multitude of tasty dishes was a carton of eggs, a jug of milk, and bags of sugar and flour. They'd be needing milk sooner rather than later. A quick jaunt to the store wouldn't hurt anything except my limited budget.

I sighed and began to fill the hamper. Ken was a slob, and the small bedroom they'd cordoned off with an old shower curtain was filled with dirty clothing. Rosanna had vetoed the shopping trip. I was living on her good graces, and I should probably respect the decisions she made. I'd walk to the library later and put in applications for a few hours. First, there was laundry to do.

The apartment complex was bleak. For such an expensive place, it really was a dump. The white tile floors hadn't seen a buffer in years. The stairs creaked, and the walls were paper thin. The only mark I could tally in its favor was its lack of roaches.

Light filtered in through dingy windows as I made my way downstairs to the basement. I'd brought the detergent, a bag of change, and a book, ready to camp out on the folding table for the next hour or two. Even though there were about twenty machines, the residents of the complex would still trash or steal your clothing if it was left unattended.

To my surprise, I found someone already inside the laundry room. Usually, the only person who did their laundry this early was Mrs. Cook, an elderly woman who lived with her son on the first floor. A young woman was sitting on the table in my usual spot, her knees drawn up to her chest, reading a book. She looked up from her copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets like she'd been caught doing something illegal. She stuffed it quickly into her own basket.

"Don't tell my papa." She begged.

I set the hamper on the folding table next to hers. I considered her curiously. I'd never seen her before, I was sure of it. Still, there was a nagging sense of familiarity. She looked about my age. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, at any rate. Her wild red hair looked like it had never seen a brush.

"I won't." I assured her. "Who are you?"

She glanced around and licked her lips nervously. "Mercy Pearson."

Ah, that would explain the familiar face. Mercy was her mother in miniature, right down to the riot of freckles across her nose.

"I'm Molly." I extended a hand. "Molly Carpenter."

Mercy stared at my hand in trepidation, as though I might haul off and smack her with it. My stomach gave a queasy little roll when I realized that was exactly what she thought I'd do. I let my arm fall limply back to my side and turned away. I didn't want her to misinterpret the disgust and anger as meant for her.

"I've never seen you around before." I noted, unloading the smelly spoils from my basket.

"I'm homeschooled." Mercy said after a moment. She'd apparently decided to trust me. That was good.

I dumped in detergent and started the washer. Then I hopped on top of it and turned back to Mercy. "My parents thought about homeschooling us, but with seven kids it would be a lot of time and effort."

Mercy smiled faintly. "That's a lot of siblings. You must never get lonely."

Heartache twisted in my chest like a knife. Lonely. That was precisely the word to use. I was so damn lonely. I'd been sitting in Rosanna's apartment for weeks, struggling with the weight of the snap decision I'd made. I'd saved Harry. I'd damned myself. Even if the Fallen hadn't taken me over yet, there was an irreversible taint from touching that coin. Why else would the Knights be so diligent not to expose themselves to them?

"Yeah." I muttered dully. "Something like that."

Mercy let her knees dangle over the side of the table and for the first time I saw what she was wearing. An unwilling grin stretched my lips. "You've gone to Splatter-Con?"

Mercy's answering smile was shy, but genuine. "Twice. Mom takes me when we can afford it."

"That's so cool. My parents won't...wouldn't let me go until I turn sixteen." Mercy didn't seem to notice my slip.

"We got to meet Roger Corman. I have his autograph on my copy of the Masque of the Red Death." She sighed happily, and wrapped her arms around her torso. Only then did I notice the green-yellow of fading bruises on her upper arms. She caught me staring and hastily changed the subject.

"Do you want to go with us this year? If you pay for a ticket, I think mom will be happy to drive us. She's been telling me to make friends for ages." She paused, looking uncertain once more. "I mean...if you want to be friends. I understand if-"

"I'd love that." I cut her off mid-sentence. Her reticence broke my heart. I had to at least try.

I coaxed her into talking about the little things. I discovered we had more in common than I thought. She loved Harvest, the most recent film by horror master Darby Crane. There was rumor circulating that he might make a sequel in a year or two.

The conversation came in spurts. Mercy was a nervous girl, and with her upbringing I could see why. I wanted to smuggle her to the Carpenter house. She'd be safe there. More than safe, she'd be loved. No child deserved to feel fear in their own home.

In no time at all, our laundry was washed, dried, and folded in our separate baskets. I found myself reluctant to part with Mercy. It was the longest I'd spoken to anyone since leaving my parent's house.

"Mercy!" I called after her as she trooped out, laundry basket under one arm. She glanced back at me.

"Yes?

"It may be none of my business, but you can land on us at any time. We live in room 314." I felt a pang of guilt even as I made the offer. It wasn't my apartment. I didn't really have the authority to extend the invitation. I pushed the feeling aside. Rosanna couldn't begrudge me this. Mercy was in need, just like me.

Mercy's face softened. "I'll keep that in mind. Have a good day, Molly."

"You too."

And for the first time since leaving home, I felt like I just might.


	3. Chapter Two: Hi, my name is

I stared at the paper application with mounting frustration.

As I'd been told at nearly every gas station, retail store, and fast food joint I'd visited, paper applications were going the way of the wild goose. Every department store large or small had a web page these days. After surfing the net for job openings in Rosanna's neighborhood for an hour straight, I'd logged off the computer with a snort of disgust.

Every single one of the applications asked for things I couldn't provide. A driver's license, a permanent address, a social security card, or birth certificate. I had been able to procure exactly three paper applications. I'd taken them with a polite smile, knowing I'd have to trash at least two of them. The craft store was out. It was a small family-owned chain that my mother loved to frequent. It had been a risk just going in to visit. Thankfully, the bubble-gum chewing clerk had barely glanced at me while she fished the application from beneath the counter.

The Dollar Tree was also out. Though my parents would be considered fairly well-off on paper, that didn't change the fact they still had to feed, clothe, and care for seven children. Six, I amended with a wince. There were just six children in the house now.

I stared blankly at my remaining application. What was going on at home? I had no idea what day it was anymore. Without school and the daily drudgery of homework, I hadn't really kept track. It had been February when I'd left, right? And I'd been gone nearly a month now. So it was March, maybe? Or the beginning of April.

The jawas would be back to school after spring break. Well, those who were attending anyways. Amanda had just started kindergarten the year before, so it would just be Hope and little Harry at home with Mom.

I glanced guiltily at the application. The date was as woefully blank as the rest of the paper. I stared down the long row of desks. As usual, I felt an odd sense of agoraphobia when I stepped outside the bleak confines of Rosanna's apartment. Since I'd picked up the coin, I'd had the sensation of crosshairs on my back. I had a secret that people would kill me for. I gave my head a rueful shake. I was being a bit of a drama queen. I couldn't stay at Rosanna's forever. And if my hastily constructed plan had worked and the Fallen really was gone, I needed to do my part and help pay the bills.

I tapped the man nearest to me on the shoulder. He was tall, even sitting down, and wore a tailored brown suit that failed to hide his potbelly completely. His jacket bulged in all the wrong places. With his prominent forehead, thick bushy brows, and sandy brown crew cut he gave me the distinct impression of a monkey.

He scowled at me. Before my interruption he'd been scanning the library intently, clearly looking for someone. I nearly flinched back from his reproachful glare.

"Can I ask you what the date is?" I asked meekly, gesturing to my application.

The man's brows pushed together even further, an impressive feat to be sure. "This better not be a joke, kid."

"I need to fill out an application. I don't know the date."

"Ain't you all got phones or summat? Check that. I'm busy."

I pulled the trac phone Rosanna had given me for emergencies. I had only two contacts. Rosanna and Mercy. "This thing doesn't do jack, sir. Can you please just give me the date?"

The man seemed slightly mollified by the courtesy title. He reluctantly drew his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. "It's April third."

I scribbled the date in the space provided. There. At least I had something on the page. I looked up with a grin, ready to thank the grumpy stranger, and I saw him.

He was hard to miss. He stood head and shoulders above everyone else in the literal as well as metaphorical sense. My heart threw itself painfully against my ribs. I'd always sort of liked Harry. Okay, "liked" was understating it a bit. I'd been carrying a torch for him for awhile now. When I'd turned twelve, puberty had slammed into me like a freight train and my father's brooding wizard friend with the sexy leather coat and bad attitude looked way more appealing.

I hadn't been sure why so many people found him frightening. He was handsome, when you actually got a good look at his face. He had a strong jawline and, whenever I'd seen him, a bit of stubble. He'd always looked weary, but good-natured.

He didn't look that way now.

Harry's brow was furrowed in concentration and deep frown lines slashed his face. He shot a guilty glance at the row of computers that lined the walls and put several feet between himself and the poor things, lest he short them out completely with his presence. I knew he could. Once, when he'd been over for little Harry's birthday, he'd managed to short out the DVD player and halted the Barney film ten minutes in. He'd sheepishly handed my father what change he had to replace it. Despite my mother's protests, he hadn't used the money for the repair and instead put it in the offering plate on Harry's behalf.

Harry's consideration for public property was the only thing that kept him from spotting me. It gave me the few seconds I needed to scrabble beneath the table. It was a temporary measure. Nothing in the world was going to stop Harry from finding me if he was using magic. I didn't quite understand the mechanics, but I knew if he had a link to what he was tracking, he could locate something that was missing, like a wristwatch, a pet, or a runaway daughter.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. Of course Dad would have called in Harry. Four weeks had gone by and I hadn't had the courage to go back and tell him what I'd done. He and Mom must be frantic. When nothing had turned into more nothing, even Mom's resolution to keep Harry out of our lives would have weakened. Charity Carpenter wasn't so stubborn that she'd write off her daughter because of a petty thing like dislike.

If I'd been thinking, I would have taken my hairbrushes from the bathroom before I'd run off. I'd been using Rosanna's for the past month, a necessity that still made me uneasy. Living with four other school-aged kids made me wary of other people's things. When one of my siblings inevitably got lice from a schoolmate, everyone in the house got it. My scalp felt tender just thinking about the lice pick.

It didn't matter now. Harry was here, he had my hair and he was coming for me. The man who I'd asked for the time was looking at me like I'd gone nuts.

"What are you doing, kid? Sit up."

I shook my head vigorously. "I was never here, got it?"

He caught my nervous glance in Harry's direction and his expression hardened. I wished I had time to puzzle out what that meant. Mr. Mystery man knew Harry, and apparently didn't like him. He gave me a brief nod. "Got it."

He slid my applications underneath his own bag, effectively erasing any trace that I'd ever sat near him. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to crawl along the floor. I received a few odd looks, but no one commented. There were enough crazy people in the world that a girl hiding beneath the table didn't really phase anyone.

I reached the end of the table nearly a minute later and peered cautiously out from under it. Harry was staring down at something in his hand. A necklace, I thought it was. The amulet that hung from the end of the chain was straining forward, like it was being pulled by a strong magnetic force. It was pointing in my direction. I ducked back under the table, cursing under my breath.

How the hell was I supposed to get out from under here without Harry seeing me? I was purely human. I wasn't fleet-footed enough to escape notice as I passed. I knew some of the creatures dad fought could do that. If I didn't move, Harry would still find me. To be found crouching beneath the table like a misbehaving child was something I couldn't tolerate. I scanned the library again, and found my solution. A few feet away from me was a cart, laden with heavy hardback books. It looked like they were bound for the large print section.

As quickly as I could manage in my hunched position, I darted over to the cart. I felt marginally safer when I was hidden behind it. I just had to cross the aisle and get into the stacks. This branch of the public library system was huge, and I could lead him in a circle and exit out the front doors before he could spot me. By the time he followed me out, I would already be lost in the crowd. I'd pack up everything at Rosanna's and be gone before he could track me there.

I frowned. I didn't like the thought of leaving Rosanna and Ken without a word. It was rude, and it chafed against every rule my mother had drilled into my head. But what choice did I have? I couldn't go home. I had no doubt that Harry would drag me back by my hair if I let him. There would be questions. I knew I couldn't hold up under the weight of my father's disappointment. I'd spill the whole sordid story. Then what would become of me? I couldn't be kept around my siblings in this state, that was a certainty. Would they lock me up? Wait for the Fallen to take over so they could slay it? Or would I be kept forever under the watchful eye of the church, never allowed to do anything that might spur me to take up the coin? I flinched away from the thought of that bleak future.

I inched the cart forward. I didn't dare peek over the top of it to see if Harry had noticed. I took shuffling steps forward. The cart bumped against the bookshelf and I heard Harry's footsteps coming toward me. My heart threw itself against my ribcage, and I took off running down the aisle. I hit a librarian as she rounded the corner. The encounter sent me stumbling and knocked her over. The brunette shot me an affronted look, then grunted in pain as the stack of books she'd been carrying fell in a heap in her lap and around her on the floor.

I didn't stop to help her up. I knew Harry would do it for me, and that would give me time to escape. I turned a corner and had to vault another cart. I was suddenly grateful I'd taken track instead of volleyball. The cart was higher than most of the hurdles at my school, but I was sure I'd never have made the jump without the practice. I landed wrong, rolled, and got to my feet shakily. A couple who'd been wrapped around each other tightly broke apart with a loud sucking sound and stared at me.

"Get a room," I quipped and took off again. I could hear Harry's voice on the other side of the aisle. I needed to get out of here.

I tried not to take turns too often. It would slow me down. But whenever I heard Harry's voice, now calling my name in hushed tones, I'd make a detour into the next stack. Book titles passed by me in a blur. The only thing I really registered was that I must have stepped into the romance section, because bare-chested men and scantily clad women abounded.

I turned the corner for a final time, only to find myself in the midst of a crowd. I was momentarily bewildered. I thought I knew the layout of the library by heart. I should be in the history section, and near an exit. Instead, the shelves that were normally situated by the door had been pushed to either side. The crowd was gathered around some sort of exhibit, and one of the librarians was explaining in a high, obnoxious voice the significance of the artifact that was normally displayed at the University of Chicago. It was on loan from the university for the next month.

I wanted to smash whatever it was to pieces. The crowd was blocking my exit, and Harry's voice was only a few feet away. I stood, rooted to the spot. This was it. After all that effort, Harry was going to find me. He was going to take me home and I'd have to explain everything. I raised my hand to shield my face, as if it could somehow obscure me from view. As I did, a fine mist seemed to shimmer before my eyes.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. Through the haze, I saw Harry turn the corner. He whipped his head this way and that. I waited for his eyes to narrow, for him to seize me by the arm and drag me toward the door.

Only...it didn't happen.

Harry glanced down at the pentacle amulet that hung loosely from his fingers. It had stopped pulling. Of course it had. Harry had found me. So why wasn't he acknowledging me? He may have only seen me as a kid, damn it, but I was standing right here. He could at least nod or speak to me. I didn't think I deserved the cold shoulder.

"What's the matter with you?"

I almost responded with a sarcastic quip, but bit my tongue when Harry tapped the amulet gently. It remained stationary. Harry continued to frown at it.

It slowly began to dawn on me. Harry couldn't see me. Testing the theory, I tiptoed past him. He didn't react at all. I was too nervous to let loose the giggle I could feel building. Somehow, impossibly, I'd managed to dupe the great Harry Dresden. I wove my way through the crowd, being careful not to jostle anyone in the crowd. Those I did accidentally elbow glared at their neighbors rather than me.

When I reached the doors, my heart had slowed. I merely felt like I'd run a marathon, instead of trying to have a heart attack. I waited by the door. Sooner or later someone would open them, and I could slip outside. Invisible or not, no one was going to overlook a door opening on its own. Harry certainly wouldn't, if he'd made his way around to the front.

Mystery man strolled casually out to the lobby, scanning the room intently. Sometime in the minutes I'd been dodging Harry, his bag had disappeared. Instead, he clutched a slurpee he'd no doubt purchased at the cafe that was attached to the library. He made his way over to one of the set of wide double-doors and pushed it open. I slipped out after him, breathing in deeply. Chicago air wasn't the purest in the world, but in that moment it felt like breathing in perfume. I was out. I could be on the street in minutes and back to Rosanna's within the hour.

I fell into step beside mystery man, using his footsteps to disguise the sounds of my own. We made our way around the corner, toward the parking lot. I'd wait until he was in his car before I went further. He was the only one around who could hear me flee.

I'd already begun to think about what I'd need to pack. The list was pathetically short. Maybe I'd risk a homeless shelter for the night. One on the edge of the city. I could hitchhike down to Missouri or Kansas. Surely that would be far enough away. Harry was powerful, but I didn't think he could track me across state lines. I could purchase an aerosol to defend myself. I'd heard wasp spray was as effective against would-be rapists as mace.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice what mystery man was doing until it was too late. The red arc looked like blood against the grey sky. I let out a shriek as the slurpee splashed across my front. The sugary concoction ran down my torso and settled in my bra. I was going to be sticky all night. The man reached casually into his jacket and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at me, using the sound to zero in on my location.

"You run, and I'll shoot you."

I was frozen again. I believed he'd follow through on the threat. There was no bluff in his dark eyes. My sneakers would slap audibly against the concrete if I tried to run. Invisible or not, I'd still die if a bullet hit somewhere vital.

The man gestured genially toward the parking lot with the barrel. "Come with me, girlie. We need to have a chat."


	4. Chapter Three: An Unsavory Offer

The mystery man waved the barrel of his gun impatiently in the direction of the parking lot. I weighed my options carefully. I could slip off my shoes and run. I risked tetanus and God knew what else running barefoot through the streets of Chicago, but at least I'd be alive. That was only a viable option so long as whatever this...thing I'd done held.

Even as I thought it, the shimmering haze that had been dancing before my eyes for the last few minutes died away. I blinked quickly, hoping against hope that I hadn't caused my protection to fail. The man's eyes focused and he took better aim. I was visible again.

"Parking lot. Now," the man ordered. He kept his arm tucked in close to his side, hiding the gun from plain view. Unless anyone was watching us closely, it wasn't going to raise any alarm bells.

"Why?" I asked, raising a brow at him. "You going to shoot me in front of the library entrance? This is a heavily policed part of town, and, as I'm sure you noticed, there's a detective looking for me."

His eyes tightened ever so slightly, and I knew I'd hit the mark. I was beginning to regret running from Harry. What was the worst he was going to do to me? Give me a dressing down and return me to the Carpenter household? I had no idea what this guy wanted from me. If he carried a gun and was afraid of the cops, he probably meant me ill. Explanations, each one worse than the next, spun around in my head.

What if he was a part of a human trafficking ring? I'd heard they took attractive, underage girls off the street and sold them overseas. It seemed risky, picking up a girl who knew his face and could identify him in a police lineup. I wasn't sure who I'd be appealing to. I was still developing. I had too much of a chest at fourteen to appeal to a pedophile, but I hadn't filled out enough to attract many men either.

Then again, I'd also shown him that I had to use a prepaid phone with limited minutes and no GPS tracking ability. Maybe I looked like an easy mark. But that didn't make sense either, the more I thought about it. He'd bought the slurpee on purpose. He'd seen me disappear. That meant he had to have been following me. And I'd never seen him before I'd tapped him on the shoulder to ask for the date.

"Get to the parking lot, now," he instructed, and I heard the distinctive click of a hammer being pulled back. "I just want to talk."

I cast one last desperate glance at the library. Maybe Harry had gotten his tracking spell up and running again. The last I'd seen, he'd gone wading into the crowd under the mistaken impression I was somewhere inside it. Maybe if I stalled, he'd have time to reach me.

Or maybe I'd just get myself shot.

The man fell into step behind me, putting a bracing hand on my back, curling me closer to his side. It would have been a warm, paternal gesture if the gun hadn't jabbed into my ribs.

"Stop that," I hissed. "You're not my father."

The man smirked down at me. I wanted to punch the grin off of his smug face. "Nah, that's a Mister Carpenter, innit? Thanks for writing your name down on the forms, girlie. Now I know what to call you."

"You could extend me the same courtesy, you know," I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my tone. It probably wasn't a good idea to mouth off when there was a gun poised to shoot me in the heart if I misbehaved.

"All in good time."

He steered me into the parking lot. He began counting the rows as he passed, eyes scanning the crowd of parked cars for one in particular. Again, I had to bite back the urge to make a sarcastic remark. Had he really forgotten where he parked? That was a level of idiocy that deserved mockery. It was cold, and even the jacket I wore wasn't helping me dispel the shivers that seized my small frame. The weather didn't seem to bother the mystery man, and he finally led me down the last row of cars in the parking lot.

He led me to a silver van. It looked as if it had been chosen specifically for how generic it was. It would have been difficult for anyone to pick it out in the crowd. I spotted a dozen other vans just like it, parked closer to the library. I frowned. If he'd been here to pick me up, why would he park so far away from the entrance? The further he had to drag me, the more likely it was that I'd make a bid for freedom. The longer we took to reach the safety of the vehicle, the more time Harry had to catch up.

"Are you sure you don't want my jacket?" he said as we approached the car. I craned my neck to see a woman exiting her Volkswagen beetle. She shot us a questioning glance as she passed.

"I'd like you to take your hands off of me," I whispered.

"Get in the van," he said in an undertone. "And we'll talk."

The van was already running. Exhaust plumed visibly from the tailpipe, and a man stuck his head out the driver's side window as we approached.

"Who's the broad?" he said, sliding his Ray-Bans down his nose to get a better look at me.

"Miss Carpenter, say hello to my driver, Tony."

I glared stonily at Tony until he rolled his window up and put the car into gear. The mystery man finally took his hand off of my back and gave me a shove toward the sliding door. "Get in, girlie."

"What happened to Miss Carpenter?" I grumbled, but did as I was told. I got a good grip on the handle and pulled. The door was heavy, and I had trouble pushing it all the way back. I needed to get into better shape. The sprint through the library had proved I was fast, but I really needed to hit the weights, if I got out of this alive. With a final nervous glance at the gun, I climbed into the interior of the car.

"Backseat," he instructed, climbing in after me. I hesitated a fraction too long and received a violent shove into the bench seat. Only my quick reflexes stopped me from having a painful encounter with the window. The glass was thickly tinted and a shade past what was legal in the state of Illinois.

"Step on it, Tony."

The car backed up quickly and I had to brace my hands on the bench seat in front of me to keep from flying forward. The car really picked up speed then, and we went hurtling through the row of cars at top speed, barely slowing to take the corner.

"Buckle up, kid," the man said, not moving to do the same. "Don't want you crashing through the windows, do we?"

"What do you want?" I said, reaching for the seat belt. He still had the gun trained on me, and it just seemed safer to be wearing a restraining band while Tony was driving.

"What was that back there?" he asked, ignoring my question. "In the library? One moment you're standing there, and the next you're not. It was like magic, or something."

I blinked. Magic? Had I used magic? My heart picked up speed, and I felt a trickle of genuine elation seep into my veins. Despite the circumstances, the idea thrilled me. I'd always thought what Harry could do was amazing. It didn't' seem unnatural or evil. Not the way Harry used it, at least. If I had magic, what did that mean for me? Could I sling around fireballs, or sweep this creep off his feet with a gust of wind? I could at least become invisible. That was more than I'd ever dreamed of doing before today.

I shrugged. "I don't know what happened. I acted on instinct."

The man's eyes narrowed. "You can just poof right out of sight when you get nervous?"

"I don't know," I repeated. "It's the first time I've done it."

The man's lips pulled away from his teeth in a fierce smile. "Well, you're gonna do it again, kid. And this time, you're going to do it for me. I think that little talent of yours will come in useful."

"And if I refuse?" I countered, sounding braver than I felt. I didn't like having the gun cocked and aimed straight at me. What if we hit a pothole and it went off? I was beginning to think that this guy had more ambition than sense.

"You're gonna be useful one way or another, kid." He said, giving me a thorough once-over. I regretted applying a layer of makeup this morning. I'd just hoped to make myself look a little older. I was more likely to get a job if I looked sixteen instead of fourteen.

"Stop calling me that," I snapped. "I'm not going around calling you dude."

He chuckled, sounding genuinely amused by my outburst. "My name is Torelli, kid. What's yours?"

"Molly," I ground out. "And if you think you're going to hold me for ransom, you've got another thing coming. My parents don't care where I'm at, and they're not looking for me."

"Liar," Torelli snorted. "If they can afford to pay Dresden's rates to find you, they could pay what I'd ask to give you back. That's not the point, though. I don't want you found, Molly Carpenter. I want you to pull a disappearing act for me."

I twisted the hem of my shirt between my hands nervously. "I don't know what I did," I repeated slowly, hoping he'd understand. He didn't seem all that bright, his comments about my parents and Harry aside. I was sure he was doing this job pro bono.

"Well, you're going to figure it out in the next hour or so," Torelli said, reaching behind him for something I couldn't see. When he brought it up to eye level, I saw it was a case just like the one he'd been carrying inside the library. He opened the snaps with quick, businesslike efficiency and withdrew a small baggie. He tossed it into my lap.

It didn't look much different from the snack bags Mom used to put Cheerios in for Hope and Harry. But instead of a snack suited for a toddler, this baggie contained a powdery white substance that vaguely resembled baking soda. I nearly threw it back at him, revolted by what had landed in my lap.

"Cocaine?" I nearly shouted. "You want me to do cocaine?"

Torelli rolled his eyes. "You're not going to snort that, kid. It's worth more than you'd make in a year. That stuff is nearly seventy percent pure. People pay top dollar for this shit."

"Then why-?"

Torelli cut me off. "You're gonna pull a your little Invisa-girl act and get this to one of my buyers uptown."

My stomach rolled as I stared down at the little baggie and everything it entailed. This was illegal. A dull throbbing was beginning between my eyebrows. I was going to have a wicked headache by the time we reached our destination. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing myself anywhere but in this car with this despicable man.

I should be at school right now. I'd be going into my freshman year of high school soon. My friends had been hinting they wanted to make me over for awhile. I could be scandalizing my parents with my risque fashion choices. The worst trouble I'd get in was a grounding. Instead, I was in a van with a drug dealer, his driver and, if the size of the case was any indication, a ton of cocaine.

I swallowed back the bile and steadied my nerves the only way I knew how. I drew upon the deep well of snark that exists within every smartass and fixed Torelli with an insolent stare.

"Invisa-girl? Really? Don't you know your comic books at all? You could at least have called me 'The Invisible Woman' or 'Sue Storm.' Invisi-girl just sounds like a lame sidekick."

The references flew right over Torelli's head. I sighed. Uncultured swine. It was going to be a nightmare dealing with this guy. He was a slimeball _and_ completely ignorant of pervasive pop culture.

"The buyer will be waiting outside the Uptown Theatre, wearing a red sweater, a belt around the middle, and black skinny jeans."

"Will they also be carrying a sack and say ho, ho, ho?" I asked innocently.

Torelli's eyes narrowed. "Don't get smart with me, Carpenter. I've still got a gun on you."

"If you were going to shoot me, you'd have done it outside the library." I wasn't sure why that conviction was so strong, but I was certain of it. "You'd rather keep me alive so I can run drugs for you."

He scowled. "You do this job for me, and there's potential for work in the future. You'd like that, right? This gig will pay more than a retail job, that's for damn sure."

"I was a part of D.A.R.E. in elementary school. I'm doing this under protest."

Torelli shrugged. "You get these jobs done, and I let you walk away."

"Jobs?" I echoed. "As in, plural?"

"Five of 'em. Then I'll drop you back home, kid. I might even buy you a lollipop."

I glared at the back of his head as he finally turned around. Condescending asshole. I should use my powers to turn his head into goo. That was, if I had powers. And if I could do more than turn myself invisible at will. I sank lower in the chair, rubbing my head.

I really wished I'd stayed put in the library.

I'd never actually been to the Uptown Theatre. It was only now that I'd wandered outside of it that I realized that the scope of my life had been incredibly small. I'd been alive for fourteen years, and I'd only visited four out of fifty states. I'd rarely left the suburban neighborhood that I'd grown up in. The most familiar routes to me were the ones to and from the private school I attended, to Saint Mary's or the hospital and, of course, friend's houses.

I'd never had cause to travel the seventy-seven neighborhoods that made up Chicago, let alone the rest of Illinois. I'd been out of the country twice with dad, both times when I was young and Father Forthill had not been available to babysit Daniel and I. The world was a lot bigger than I was, and until this moment I hadn't really thought about it in just those terms. Put that way, I felt small and rather insignificant in the face of it all.

The Uptown Theatre wasn't the biggest building I'd ever seen, but it was quite pretty. A big red marquee declared "Uptown" in big block letters. Movie titles that were a few years out of date were still printed on the sides of the thing. The building was under renovation, and only a small portion of the molding that ran up the building was visible. It was early afternoon, but apparently the workers had decided that two o'clock was quitting time. There were tools left on the scaffolding that had been erected in front of the building. It looked like a safety hazard to me, but hey, I was no architect.

Cars lined the streets, and a big concrete barricade blocked off the entrance to the theatre. One of the cars, parked further down the street, was an unmarked police vehicle. Don't ask me how I knew, but it had that feel to it. The man sitting behind the wheel was staring resolutely ahead at the street, sometimes eyeing the interactions between passersby with suspicion. His clothing was too crisp. The German Shepherd was too well-behaved.

"I can't do this," I muttered.

"You managed it again on the way up." Torelli said dismissively. "You can do it a third time. You've only got to get the cash and get back to the van. Five minutes, tops."

The spell I'd cast in the library had only lasted three minutes. The second attempt had lasted even less time than the first, puttering out after only a minute and a half. I was sweaty, and my breakfast was trying to make a reappearance. The tuna sandwich that Torelli had chowed down on smelled revolting. The headache had only grown worse. Each heartbeat felt like a sledgehammer blow. I wasn't going to be able to do this. I was going to get out of the van, hurl, and get arrested for possession of a narcotic.

A woman strolled into view. She very casually propped herself against the barricade, eyeing the car down the street the same way I had. The guy must be new, because even this girl could tell what he was there for, and she didn't seem like she was the brightest crayon in the box.

She drew out a pack of cigarettes, shook them vigorously and then withdrew one. She produced a lighter from her purse and lit up. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, smiling as she released it a few moments later. I didn't understand the look of satisfaction on her face. The one and only time I'd tried cigarettes I'd coughed and spluttered like a fiend. The smoke hadn't tasted good either. I'd take one if offered by friends, but I didn't like the stuff.

The unknown woman had brown curls that were the result of artful hairstyling, rather than unstoppable genetics, like Mercy's. Her skin was too smooth to be completely natural, and I expected I'd see her face caked in makeup if I got closer. She was wearing a red sweater dress, a thick black belt, and black skinny jeans. Her boots nearly reached her thighs. The undercover cop was eyeing the girl with dislike. Smoking in front of the theatre wasn't strictly illegal, but it was frowned upon. After the laws had passed to prevent smoking in front of most businesses, public smoking had gone down some. The theatre wasn't open, and it didn't have a sign that prohibited smoking outside of its doors.

"Looks like we found our ho, ho, ho," I muttered.

Torelli smirked. "Showtime, kid. Don't even think about running off. I've got your name. My boss, John Marcone, knows absolutely everyone in Chicago. If you don't behave, I can arrange for one of your family to have a little...accident. Understand?"

"I understand."

My hands shook so badly, Torelli had to open the door for me. The baggie of cocaine in my back pocket felt like it weighed about a million pounds. I fought the urge to press my face into the side of the van. The metal was cool, and it would soothe the aching of my head for a moment or two. I couldn't afford the delay. If I stayed out of sight for too long, Torelli would think I'd run off. And if he thought I'd run off, he'd go after my family.

And I'd thought the Fallen was the worst thing that had happened to me this year. Life had a funny way of turning all your previously held assumptions on their head.

I squeezed my eyes shut. It was hard to focus past the fear and bodily discomfort. I mustered up all the willpower I could and muttered. "Abracadabra."

Nothing happened. I hadn't really thought it would, but just saying the word aloud made me feel a little less nervous. I might have laughed and tried every magical word I could think of if I'd been home. If it really was magic, it wouldn't work that way. I didn't know much about it, but most of Harry's spells seemed to be Latin-based, not made up gobbledegook.

I drew in a shaking breath. I was dangerously close to throwing up. It was difficult to swallow. Tony was staring at me, and I could practically feel Torelli's eyes on me as well. I just needed to get this spell down. If I finished this, Torelli would take me home. I had no illusions it would end here, but maybe I could follow through on my plan. I'd get out of town. I wasn't worth chasing.

Nothing was coming. I was pretty sure the casual observer would think I was constipated. I couldn't seem to force the spell a third time. Tears were gathering, and I couldn't swallow.

 _Oh God,_ I thought miserably. _I'm going to die. Torelli's going to kill me. I can't do it._

I raised my face to the sky. The sun couldn't emerge from the thick layer of clouds. I was going to die on a dreary afternoon, just outside a theatre I'd never had the chance to visit. How depressing.

 _Help me,_ I pleaded. Whatever higher power was out there hadn't stopped me from picking up an evil coin that was bent on the destruction of my soul. Why did I expect they'd stop my untimely death? That seemed like too much to hope for.

I clenched my hands into fists. Maybe the words were what I was missing. Harry always spoke or shouted incantations. I didn't know the Latin word for invisible, or if there even was such a thing. I _did_ know some Japanese, thanks to Shiro. The word came out of my mouth before I could even think about what I was doing.

"Kakusu," I breathed.

The shimmering barrier sprang up without effort, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't sure how long it was going to hold, but for now I was just grateful I'd been able to produce it. I rounded the back of the van and looked both ways before I darted across the street. The streets weren't busy at this time of day, but it _was_ Chicago. There were drivers even more reckless than Tony the Tasmanian driver.

As I'd suspected, the girl only appeared flawless at a distance. Up close, I could see that she was about fifteen pounds too thin for her frame, the skin around her nose was red and irritated like she'd suffered a bad cold, and her fingers were twitching restlessly around her cigarette. I took a seat on the barricade next to her, taking a moment to really get a look at Torelli's buyer.

She didn't look too much older than me. A handful of years and I'd be in my twenties, just like this girl. I wasn't nearly as well dressed. My shirt was clinging unpleasantly, and I looked and smelled like I'd slaughtered a cinnamon gummy and feasted on it's insides.

I scooted closer and nudged her gently. She jumped and dropped her cigarette. She swore loudly and bent to pick it up. I hopped off the barricade and knelt down with her.

"Those things will kill you, you know," I whispered.

The woman's eyes widened and she glanced around, searching for the source of my voice. In any other circumstances, it might have been fun to play with her, but I didn't have that luxury right now. I wasn't sure how long this spell would last, and I wanted to get out of the cop's sight.

"I'm throwing my voice," I lied. "I'm around the corner. Get your skinny butt over here if you want the candy I've got."

Torelli had told me to call it by any of its street names when talking with the buyer, and that one sounded the least icky. I still disliked the name. If I ever saw my family again, I would never be able to offer them candy again.

The woman's eyes brightened and she straightened up, flicking her cigarette into the nearest bin. She was tall, and I had to sprint to beat her to the alleyway. Even as it was, she still saw the spell fade off of me. She balked, knees locking like a startled colt's. Her painted mouth fell open and she stared at me.

"What was that?" she spluttered. "How did you-?"

I was getting really tired of that question. When I had the answer, I'd let someone know.

"I'm Harry freaking Potter," I snapped. She stared at me uncomprehendingly. I snorted. Mercy would have appreciated the joke. "Read a book, people. Do you want this stuff or not?"

The woman nodded eagerly. She reached into her purse and withdrew a wad of bills. It was my turn to stare. I had never seen so much money in one place. The outer bill was a hundred.

"How much do I owe Torelli?" she asked in an undertone, glancing further down the alley. I was facing forward and saw the car pull forward by inches. As soon as I'd registered it, I tried once more to disappear. It took me a precious few seconds to manage it again. The woman let out a short, surprised cry.

"Stop doing that," she snapped. "You're freaking me out."

"Cop," I said, by way of explanation. "Just put the bills behind your back, and I'll take the amount I need. You'll get the drugs, I promise."

She eyed the space I'd been in suspiciously. "I don't believe you. You're trying to pull something."

"I'll only take the amount I need, scout's honor," I whispered. "Bills behind your back or you'll be the one pulling something when you run from the cop."

She sighed but finally did as I asked. She shoved her hands behind her back and leaned against the wall, as if she were waiting for someone. I slipped my hand behind her back and took the wad of bills, peeled off three of them and replaced it.

"Three hundred even," I told her. I fished the bag out of my back pocket and placed it in one of her waiting hands.

'This stuff better be good," The woman muttered, glaring at the far wall.

"Seventy percent pure, according to Torelli."

The woman snorted, shoved her hand back into the purse. When she withdrew them, both money and cocaine were nowhere to be seen. Then she stalked off, leaving me alone in the alley. The cop car inched forward again, following her at a snail's pace.

I made my way out of the alley. The urge to throw up had passed, but my head still ached. I was in desperate need of Tylenol or baby aspirin. I trudged back to the van, knowing I was going to receive neither.

It was going to be a long freaking day.

Torelli seemed to have an assigned area, because we didn't stray too far away from Uptown. There were two buyers in Lincoln Square, and two more in Lakeview. Each time I used the spell, it sapped still more of my non-existent energy.

By the end of the day, I was having trouble hobbling up the front drive of Rosanna's apartment complex. Torelli got an arm under me and half-carried me forward, pressing the button I indicated when we reached the fence. Torelli began jamming all the other buttons as well when neither of my roommates responded.

"I hate these damn things," Torelli muttered. "They're such a pain."

Finally, someone buzzed us through, and Torelli escorted me forward. I made a brave attempt at trying to walk forward under my own power. It just wasn't happening. I was no Harry Dresden. Trying to summon the invisibility spell eight times in one day was too much for me. Whatever strength I'd drawn from the invocation was gone now.

"You going to be okay, kid? You really have to get better at this disappearing act. I can't have you wimping out on me in the future. You barely held it up during that last deal."

"There is no future with me," I panted, supporting myself against the door. Not only was it illegal, it wasn't feasible. Torelli said this was one of his shorter days. I couldn't pull this trick out of a hat day in and day out and stay conscious for very long.

Torelli watched me struggle with the door, an amused look plastered all over his big, dumb face. I had the violent urge to turn him into the monkey he so resembled. Of course, nothing happened. Torelli remained human. My hands were shaking badly, and my ears were ringing. I needed to get upstairs before I passed out. Torelli took pity on me and opened the door after a few more minutes.

Torelli stuffed something in the pocket of my jeans. He stepped back from me and gave me another fierce grin. "Just a little something for your troubles, kid. I jammed my card in there, too. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Give me a call when you make up your mind."

I glared at his retreating back for a few moments before shuffling inside. I couldn't even muster the strength to slam the door behind me. It closed with a soft whisper, plunging the hall into gloomy darkness. I fumbled for the switch. I found it already in the on position. The power was out. Just peachy.

I dragged myself up the stairs to our floor and dug my keys out of my pocket. Whatever Torelli had shoved inside it fell out as my questing fingers found the keys. I knelt and picked it up. In the weak light from one of the hall windows I saw that it was the three hundred I'd collected from the first buyer. Torelli's card was lying on the ground next to it. I fought the urge to stomp on it. The slimy bastard was going to blackmail me into working for him again.

I tucked both back into my pocket and slotted my key in the lock. I opened the door and found our apartment as dark as the rest of the building. I just hoped that they'd called someone to fix the breaker soon. Most of the stuff in our fridge would spoil by morning if we didn't have power.

I battered my shins on the way to the kitchen. Rosanna had a utility flashlight on the top of the fridge for just such an occasion. Unlike Rosanna, I didn't have to strain to reach it. I'd find a few candles and wait up for Rosanna and Ken. I should probably shower first. My blouse was ruined. Maybe if I got them in the wash by the end of the night, I could salvage the jeans. I stripped off the shirt and left it on the kitchen floor. I smiled wearily. Maybe this was why Ken was a slob. He was just too damn tired after work to pick any of his clothes up. I found myself more sympathetic to Ken and Rosanna's plight than ever before.

It was easier to avoid a collision course when I could see the objects in my way. There wasn't a ton in the apartment to trip over, and it was sheer dumb luck that I'd managed to crash into the things I had. I crept past the curtained off space that passed for Rosanna and Ken's bedroom and opened the door to their bathroom soundlessly.

Rosanna lay on the floor, the tub the only thing propping her up. The desire to throw up came roaring back and I choked, bending over the toilet. It was covered in red, just like everything else. The smell of it was overwhelming. It stirred memories of a slaughter house. Blood and decay hung heavy in the air.

"Oh God." I whispered, dropping to my knees. I set the flashlight upright so the wide beam would hit the ceiling. The blood seeped into my jeans.

"Rosanna," I shook her gently. Her head lolled like a rag doll's. I shook her again. What had happened? This wasn't right. There was too much blood. Where was it all coming from?

She groaned. She was alive, thank God.

"Rosie, sweetie," I coaxed, pushing her curls away from her face. She was pale and sweaty. I pressed a hand to her forehead the way mom used to do to me. She was clammy. "Sweetie, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I just wanted a little," she mumbled. "I just needed….a little bit. I didn't mean to…"

"A little what?" I wanted to shake her again.

She began to cry softly. "I just did a little with Nelson after work. He said it would be fine. I started bleeding when I got home. There's so much blood Molly…"

That was my tipping point. I shuffled backward, leaned out of the bathroom and threw up. It didn't make me feel better. There was nothing for my stomach to expel except acid. It burned on its way out. I wiped my mouth, belatedly realizing I didn't have a sleeve. I wiped the slime on my jeans. It wasn't as if they could get any dirtier at this point.

Nelson Lenhardt, once a prospective boyfriend of mine, was bad news. I'd always known that objectively. He was good-looking, and reminded me of Harry in a way. He had the mysterious reformed bad boy vibe going on. Apparently, Nelson hadn't reformed as much as I'd thought.

"He gave you heroin?" I demanded. My voice came out hoarse and lacked the volume I wanted. I wanted to scream at her, at him, at the whole damned world for being so messed up. How had I landed in the middle of all of this chaos? I should be back home cleaning up the April Fool's day pranks the Jawas had pulled.

Rosanna could only nod. I had a sickening feeling I knew what was causing the bleeding, and if I was right, this wasn't normal. There shouldn't be this much blood, even with a miscarriage.

"How long have you been bleeding, Rosie?"

Her eyes focused on me finally. Her pupils were the size of pinpricks. She was still high. "I don't know...an hour or more…"

Damn Torelli. Damn him to the blackest pits of hades. If I'd been here, I could have gotten her to the emergency room sooner. The power was out, the landline was down, and Rosanna was bleeding out all over our bathroom floor.

With shaking fingers, I drew my prepaid phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

"911 Dispatch, what is your emergency?" A calm female voice asked.

"I think my friend is having a miscarriage." It came out in a rush. "I just got home and found her on the floor. There's a lot of blood. I think she's hemorrhaging."

I heard a keyboard clicking on the other end. The woman's voice didn't change when she responded. "What is your location?"

I gave her the address. I had to repeat myself a few times to be understood.

"Is your friend conscious?"

"Barely," I said, glancing back at Rosanna. "She's also high, I think. Heroin. I think that's what caused the miscarriage."

"What is your name?"

"Molly Carpenter," I said without thinking. I chewed the inside of my cheek. I wasn't sure it was wise to give anyone my real name. But what else was I supposed to do in this situation? Rosanna could die if she didn't get help. I barely had enough strength to amble forward. My last great plan had been to take a bath. I couldn't support Rosanna down the stairs in the state I was in.

"Okay, Molly. An ambulance will be sent to your location shortly. Please stay on the line. I have some instructions for you…"

It felt like a long time. In reality, the ambulance made its way to the apartment in a little under thirty minutes. My minutes were dangerously low by the time I hung up the phone. The building's power had finally flickered back on five minutes before the paramedics arrived. I put on my ruined shirt, too dazed to search for a clean one.

I accompanied them out, trying to ignore the sea of faces. Everyone poked their head out of their door when the paramedics passed, carrying Rosanna out on a stretcher. The only one that stood out to me was Mercy's pale face. I shook my head at her as we passed.

"Not now," I whispered. James Pearson shot me a dirty look and slammed the door shut, barely missing Mercy's nose.

The trip to the hospital passed in a blur of lights and sound. I was shunted almost immediately into a waiting room. I sat down in one of the uncomfortable padded chairs and put my head in my hands. No one would tell me what was going on. I wasn't allowed back to see her until they were through.

I needed to wash up. I looked like I'd fled a murder scene. Instead, I stared at the drying blood on my hands. Could I really have been asking for job applications only this morning? The library chase seemed like a lifetime ago. How could so much horror fit into one day?

I let myself wallow for a good long while, until the nurse came to give me an update. Rosanna had suffered a miscarriage. The fetus had been ten weeks, five days old. Not quite out of the first trimester. Barely the size of a kumquat. The nurse spotted my tears and very quietly asked how Rosanna wanted to handle her copay. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the three hundred dollars Torelli had given me. I carefully plucked his card from the wad of bills and set it in my lap.

"Will this work?" I asked. My voice sounded hollow, even to my own ears.

The nurse nodded, and informed me politely she'd return shortly with my change. I didn't care. I eyed the card in my lap. I knew how hospital billing worked, after so many years in the church. My parents had taken care of bills for those in need. Every single doctor who looked at Rosanna would be attaching their own fee. She could easily owe hundreds, even with insurance. Maybe it was time I started helping out too.

I dialed the number slowly and lifted the phone to my ear. This was going to wipe out my minutes.

"Torelli." The man grunted into the phone.

"This is Molly Carpenter," I informed him. "I'm in."


	5. Chapter Four: Call me Catherine

"Is your friend going to be alright?"

Mercy chewed her lip nervously and stared down at the brown bag lunch in her lap. She hadn't touched the ham sandwich I'd packed. I didn't think my cooking skills were so hazardous that I risked contaminating a sandwich and potato chips. Maybe, like me, Mercy didn't have an appetite.

I sighed and dug a pudding pack out of my lunch bag. I needed to eat. Torelli would be by to get me soon, and I'd be wiped out by the second stop if I didn't eat something.

"I think so. The doctor says she's going to need to rest for at least a day or two."

Rosanna hadn't moved from the bed since arriving home. I wanted to curl up next to her and wrap my arms around her. I didn't. I was afraid my bad luck was contagious and something worse would befall her if I did. Her face was unreadable. I couldn't tell what she was feeling. Anger? Sadness? Regret? She'd only cried for an hour when Ken had arrived home and she'd had to tell him about the baby.

Ken was avoiding me too. I wasn't sure if he blamed me for what had happened. Maybe if I'd kept a closer eye on her, she wouldn't have decided to shoot up. I nixed that idea as soon as it occurred to me. Stalking Rosanna to make sure she went to meetings was only going to push her into a state of resentment. She'd have done it just to prove she could. It was still tragic.

And I was about to work with a guy who peddled pain and misery for a living. Cocaine, heroin, and methamphetamine were Torelli's main staples. Well, one of them. He also oversaw prostitutes. I supposed I should have been grateful he didn't want me in that side of the business. Still, I was finding it hard to accept the choice I'd made. What if the drugs I delivered caused someone else to miscarry, or to overdose? Did that make me a murderer?

No, I didn't think so. They made their choices, right? I didn't have it in a syringe, ready to inject it into unwary passersby. Most of my job didn't even involve distribution on a street level. As Torelli had explained, I'd be running them across state lines. Torelli had people in Missouri, Iowa, Kentucky, and Michigan that I'd hand the drugs to. I wasn't going to see the devastation firsthand.

That didn't mean it wasn't happening.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Mercy asked. "I can run upstairs and ask Mom."

I'd told Mercy the truth, at least part of it. I was going out to fundamentally change my appearance. I'd run away from home, and now there was someone after me. Most people would have encouraged me to go back home, but not Mercy. Maybe it was because her home life was so awful that running away sounded reasonable. I'd told her Torelli wanted to help, and that he'd set me up with a new identity. It was true. I just wished he were the benevolent father figure I'd painted him as. He was more like a creepy uncle.

"No," I said, glancing back at the apartment complex. The building was made of dull red brick. It reminded me of a school, or a prison. There was no sense of homecoming attached to this place. "Later, okay? I think I should do this on my own."

Mercy gave me a shy smile. "Alright then. Show me when you get back. I want to see!"

I fought the urge to rumple her hair like I would have with one of my younger siblings. I was surprised to find that Mercy was older than me by a year and a half. She wasn't a kid, by any stretch of the imagination. She'd be sixteen soon, while I was still months away from being fifteen.

"Sure. And we can watch a horror flick when I get back,"

"Rain check?" she asked, glancing back at the apartment too. "Dad's getting home early today, so we can't watch it at my place. And I don't want to upset your friend."

Rosanna loved horror films as much as I did, but I let the matter slide. There had been enough real-life horror to last us all for a few months.

"Sure."

Torelli's van pulled to a stop outside the gates and Tony leaned on the horn. I scowled at them. They were scumbags already, did they need to be rude scumbags, too? I got to my feet, brushed off my skirt, and hoisted the backpack I'd borrowed from Ken onto one shoulder. I didn't have a purse, and I was afraid of carrying the falsified documents out in the open. Torelli leaned out of the passenger side window and shouted at me.

"Today, kid. I'm getting grey hairs!"

I remained stubbornly rooted to the spot. I tried to focus all my mental energy on turning his hair grey. Nothing. I'd been trying with sporadic success to access the magic I'd used in the library. It appeared the only thing I was good at was turning myself invisible. That was sort of lame.

I finally gave up the staring contest and, clutching my lunch in one hand and my empty pudding cup in the other, I trudged toward the gate. When I finally reached the van, Torelli was giving me a funny look.

"What's that look for?" I snapped.

"Nothing," his reply was equally as sharp. "Get in the van, kid, I don't want to spend any more time on this than I have to."

I slid the door open with more ease this time. I guess being scared and half-starved can really take it out of a girl. Torelli nodded his approval when I automatically buckled myself into the middle bench seat. "Good. I'm glad you see things my way, kid. It'll make this whole thing easier."

"I still don't understand why you're hiring me," I said. "You could have anyone running these drugs."

"Not just anyone could make 'em disappear, though," Torelli said. "I want you to keep working on your disappearing act, kid. If you get pulled over, I want a cop to find nothin' in the trunk even if it's full to bursting with product."

My stomach did a nervous little flip-flop. I still hadn't managed to make myself vanish for longer than ten minutes, and that was when I was well-fed and calm. I wasn't sure I could vanish anything outside of that.

"I'll try."

"No, you will do it," Torelli corrected me. "And you're gonna learn quick."

"I don't know how I did it," I begged. "If I had a teacher, maybe…"

Torelli pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'll keep an eye out for summat like that. In the meantime, you keep practicing on your own."

"Fine. Where are we going first?"

"Salon uptown," Tony said. "My gal works there. She'll get you nice and prettied up. What did you want your hair done for anyhow?"

"So she won't be recognized by the fuzz, you idiot," Torelli snorted. "She's probably classified as a missing person. If she turns up lookin' like herself on a fake ID, somebody's gonna think she was forced into a trafficking ring."

"I am being forced into a trafficking ring," I muttered. "Just not the human trafficking kind."

Torelli glanced back at me. He looked torn between amusement and irritation. Eventually, amusement won out. "You made the right choice in cooperating, kid."

I hadn't had many choices. If things had been different, I would have run home and confessed everything to dad. Somehow, I knew he'd forgive me for what I'd agreed to do for Torelli. He'd get the situation sorted out with that calm, confident demeanor he always had. But the Blackened Denarius had changed all of that. Now I had a fallen angel squatting in my head. It was like a time bomb. I wasn't sure when it was going to go off, and I didn't want to be anywhere near my loved ones when it happened.

"Right," I muttered. "Yippee for me."

Tony's girlfriend was a beautiful woman. She was a few inches shorter than me and very curvy. She had thick, dark curls that bounced when she walked. She had a full mouth that most supermodels envied, and kind eyes. I wondered how a sleazeball like Tony had managed to win such a classy lady. Did she know what he did for a living? Was she okay with it?

"Tony tells me you're takin' a photo op today," she squealed. "Oh, I just love making up his girls!"

Well, I guess that answered that question. Tony's girlfriend was in on the whole thing. I forced myself to smile at her, noting that if she jumped any higher she'd be in danger of punching herself in the face with her large bosoms.

"I'm not one of Tony's girls," I said. "I'm just a runner. I need to get ID. Can you make me look different? A little older, anyways?"

"Sure thing," Tony's girlfriend adopted a more businesslike manner and led me further into the shop. There were a lot of women inside, and they looked like older versions of me. Most were blonde, well-dressed, and pretty. They looked like they could afford to be here. I reevaluated my opinion of the place. I knew that the mob owned certain establishments in Chicago. They'd never truly gone away. They'd adapted and changed with the times, just like everyone else.

Somehow, I didn't think this was a mob establishment. I recognized one of the women under the hair dryer. She was a late night tv personality. I didn't think Torelli had enough clout to own this entire place. Maybe his boss, Gentleman John Marcone, did. But my intuition told me that the only one here who was in Torelli's pocket was Tony's girlfriend. That was interesting. If John Marcone approved of this, why would Torelli be taking great pains to take me somewhere that Marcone's people didn't work? I almost asked, but thought better of it. It could be useful later when I was in a less precarious position.

Tony's girlfriend, whose name tag identified her as Jeanine, sat me down in a chair and turned me to face the mirror. Without makeup, I looked my age. I still had a bit of baby fat on my cheeks, and I had the gangly, awkward shape of a developing girl. No one was going to believe I was eighteen. Jeanine examined my hair critically.

"You sure you want to get rid of the blonde?" she checked. "Some gals pay top dollar for what's coming out of your head naturally." Jeanine glanced pointedly at the women in the shop.

"I'm sure." It was too recognizable. I looked just like my mother, with a head of thick, ruler-straight blonde hair. I didn't want there to be even a passing resemblance to my former self on these new documents.

Jeanine shrugged. "Suit yourself, honey. What'll it be?"

I thought about it for a minute. I'd always liked the scene look. I'd been experimenting with temporary tattoos and temporary hair dye for awhile now, always washing them away before my parents had a chance to see it. I wasn't living under their roof anymore. I could wear whatever I wanted, and no one would make a fuss. Rosanna might even like it. But unnatural colors would draw the eye and make me more identifiable. My job was to be as unobtrusive as possible. So that left me with three options.

"Red," I decided. "I want to go red."

"Fire engine or-"

"Ginger," I cut her off. Mercy would probably like it. We'd look like sisters. I smiled at the thought.

Jeanine pouted, as though I'd ruined all her fun, and retrieved the necessary supplies from the back. When she returned, she was already mixing the dye. For the next several hours, my hair was plastered to tin foil and soaked in dye. Jeanie didn't remain idle. She chatted merrily to me about the soaps she liked to watch while she applied copious amounts of makeup to my bare face, and by the end of it I was up to date on every episode of _All My Children_ that had ever aired.

She carefully washed my hair, draping a towel over my face to protect my makeup, and then escorted me back to the chair to blow dry and style it.

"Are you ready?" she was nearly shaking with nervous energy. I was a little scared, to be completely honest.

"As I'll ever be."

She spun the chair around so I could see myself. At first, I wasn't sure who I was looking at. When it finally sunk in that I was staring at my own face, I was startled. Somehow, she'd managed to contour my face to look like I was in my twenties, at the very least. My hair wasn't as naturally beautiful as Mercy's, but it was eye-catching. In a blouse and skirt, I looked like I was ready for a day at the office, not headed into ninth grade.

I whistled. "That's amazing, Jeanine. Thank you."

Jeanine shrugged and gave me a satisfied smile. "It's what I do, honey. Don't be afraid to come back if you want to do something more adventurous next time."

"I won't."

Torelli handed Jeanine two bills that looked suspiciously like hundreds and told her to keep the change as a tip. We left the salon at a quarter past noon. Our next stop was someone's home. It looked a little shabby from the outside, but the interior was well-kept. The walls had never seen anything but primer, but that was just fine. The halls were lined with photos. Photos of exotic locales I'd never seen, photos of plants, insects, and people. The man who greeted us was balding and middle-aged, but in much better shape than Torelli. He offered me his hand.

"I'm Wayne Huber, it's nice to meet you," he said.

I took his hand. "I didn't exactly give you my name."

He reminded me a little of Father Forthill. He had an easy, reassuring presence. Being around Torelli was going to give me an early ulcer. If this man had been my caretaker, I thought I might actually like the job. Mr. Huber gave me a warm smile.

"That's what we're here to do, right? I'll help you spitball some ideas for a name while we work, okay?"

He led me into the back room. It was almost completely empty except for a stool in the middle of the room. The walls were covered in cloth, of the sort you'd see in school pictures. One wall sported green cloth, the next black, then grey, and finally a light blue. It was this backdrop that Mr. Huber guided me toward.

"Standard blue background," he explained, ushering Torelli from the room with a wave of his hand. "Most state driver's licenses put subjects against a blue background just like this one."

Mr. Huber set up a digital camera. I took a step back, putting myself as close to the wall as possible. If it was magic I was doing, I didn't want to ruin this nice man's camera. Harry was a death sentence to technology newer than the 1950s, and it followed that if I were developing magical powers, I might be, too. After he'd erected the expensive looking equipment Mr. Huber turned back to face me.

"Right there. That's perfect. If you could face forward and look directly at me, please."

I forced a smile as he snapped the photo. He took a step back, and peered at the result. He did that several more times, and then finally found a photo he was satisfied with. He turned the camera off, ejected the SD card and bid me follow. I did, at a distance, so as not to wipe the card clean of data, and he led me into one of the back rooms. This one had several computers inside, and I played it safe, hovering in the doorway. Mr. Huber didn't seem to mind. He was intensely focused on the work he was doing.

As I watched, he doctored a driver's license and a passport, using the photos he'd taken. He swiveled back to face me when he'd finished doctoring my altered face onto the documents.

"Alright, let's figure out that name. Do you have any preferences? Anything you wanted to be called besides your first name?"

I thought about it. I'd always been Molly Carpenter. Doffing the name was necessary, but not comfortable. I'd gone through a phase when I was very little where I demanded to be called Princess Leia, but that would be a dead giveaway that the ID was a fake. I needed something that sounded natural.

"Nothing springs immediately to mind."

"Do you have a middle name? Perhaps we could start there."

"I have two, actually. My full name is Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter."

"Amanda is a nice name," Mr. Huber tapped his chin thoughtfully with his pen. "How about Amanda Smith? It's quite a common combination. There are thousands of people with that name."

I shook my head. "My little sister is named Amanda. It wouldn't feel right."

"How about Katherine?" Mr. Huber asked. "It's got a nice, strong quality to it."

"That could work. But spell it with a C, please. My parents spelled mine with a K."

"Catherine with a C, got it," he said, and typed my chosen first name in the space available. "Last name?"

"Lenhardt," I decided. Perhaps I was a masochist. Perhaps, like the catholics in my far distant lineage, I felt a desire to punish myself for my sins. Instead of mortification of the flesh, I was attaching Nelson's last name to my fake identity, reminding myself constantly of what he'd done. What I was going to do.

"Catherine Lenhardt,"

Mr. Huber looked delighted. "Catherine the Brave. Oh, I like it."

That wasn't what I'd intended, but it was too late now. He'd typed it in and was well on his way to finalizing the documents. As he pounded away at the keyboard I examined the room. Like almost all the other spaces in his house, this place was covered in photos. This time they were of exotic animals. It looked like Mr. Huber had visited Africa a lot.

"So how does a good guy like you get mixed up in all of this?" I asked, gesturing toward the front room, where I could hear Torelli and Tony talking. "You don't seem the type."

Mr. Huber didn't pause. "I'm an artist, Miss Carpenter. Or do you prefer Molly?"

"Molly."

"Molly. I have a particular set of skills, ones I can't use anywhere outside of criminal rings. It pays my bills. I pay my taxes and I get two vacations a year. I'm sure you've seen how I spend them."

"So you forge documents because you like it?"

"Because I am good at it," he corrected me. "And because it is the most reliable way to take care of my two sons. They're set to go to college soon, you know."

"And you're okay with being in the pocket of the mob?"

He finally looked up from his work and gave me a sly smile. "Oh, Molly, there's nowhere safer to be than the pocket of the mob. John Marcone takes care of his people. Almost no one gets hurt."

"Except for those innocent kids who overdose. Or those people who get shot up in turf wars. Or-"

"Almost no one," Mr. Huber said with a wince. "Are you sure you want me to finish these?"

"Yes," I expelled a long breath. "I need them."

In the end, Torelli dropped me back at home with a driver's license, a passport, a fake credit card, and two burner phones. Mr. Huber said the birth certificate, social security card, and other documents would take longer to forge. I'd be receiving them in the next two weeks, if all went well. I'd also be getting a car salvaged from a chop shop downtown, and the title in my new name.

It seemed impossible that in only a few short days, I'd gone from having no money, no job, no prospects, and no worldly possessions to having everything I could ever need. If only it hadn't come with the nasty price tag of my integrity.

Rosanna glanced up in shock when I came in. She was clutching a cup of coffee like it was the key to life. Ken was rubbing slow soothing circles into her back.

"Where have you been? What did you do to your hair?"

I'd been able to scrub most of Jeanine's handiwork off of my face before arriving home, so I resembled a drag queen only in passing. I set my bag and all of its illicit contents on the floor and struggled out of my jacket.

"I was at work."

Rosanna's eyebrows lifted. "When did you get a job?"

"Just the other day. I was going to tell you but…" I trailed off, cursing myself when she flinched away from the reminder. Rosanna moved on quickly.

"Where?"

"Torelli's. It's a pizza place about three miles away. It's a bit of a walk, but I'll manage." I imagined what Torelli would think of my lie and barely contained a snort of laughter. "It's only part time, but it's a job."

"Oh." The spark of interest in her eyes died, and Ken's tempo increased.

"I think I'll change and spend the night with a friend, okay?"

"Okay."

I fished out an outfit and a pair of pajamas and stuffed them into the bag. I'd promised Mercy I'd visit anyway. I wasn't sure where I was sleeping tonight, but I was sure that I shouldn't be in the apartment while Rosanna recovered. I changed in the bathroom.

I shut the door as loudly as I could, trying to drown out the sound of Rosanna's tears.


	6. Chapter Five: Have Mercy

It isn't exactly hard to run drugs, if you don't look the type. I wasn't pulled over by the cops once in the three months I'd been doing it. I'd nearly had an accident more than once, because my driving had been abysmal at first, but I'd never been stopped by a cop. The invisibility spell, whatever it was, was getting easier to manage, and with practice I was learning to throw it over other things, too.

The hard part was explaining my absences to Rosanna and Ken. Sometimes I could be back in one day. My Springfield, Cedar Rapids, and Detroit routes took less than a day, and I was paid after each successful delivery. I knew better than to take more than my share. I didn't doubt Torelli would kill me if I crossed him, and I was being paid enough it wasn't worth the risk.

But things were getting difficult to hide from my roommates. I was beginning to think they suspected me, because I'd find them whispering behind my back. They hadn't failed to notice the improvement in our quality of life, either. I ordered takeout often, and I could afford the waste. Most of my diet these days was composed of gas station foods, fruit from farmer's markets, and endless amounts of caffeine. The back of my ill-gotten car looked like a landfill. I needed to clean out the Burger King bags, the coffee cups, and the soda cans.

They clearly didn't buy that I was dating. I had gone out with Nelson once since the miscarriage, but I'd glared at his forehead the whole time. I'd needed an excuse for where I'd be that night, after Ken had gotten especially pushy.

I wasn't lying when I told them I took Mercy out often. When I'd be gone for less than five hours, my downstairs neighbor often accompanied me. I felt guilty about it at first. I was dragging a battered girl out in a car filled with drugs. If I were caught, she could be punished for my crime. But as time passed, I grew cocky. No one was pulling me over. What was there to be afraid of?

Mercy's bruises had gotten worse, and I felt it was my responsibility to get her out of danger when I could. At the moment, she was sticking her head out the window with an expression of rapture, her hair flying around her face wildly.

"You look like a poodle," I snickered. She lolled her tongue out of her mouth in answer.

"Are you sure your mom will let you come with me to Saint Louis? It's a ten hour round trip. Longer if you want to sightsee."

"My papa doesn't care," she said with a shrug. "I ran away once. He didn't report me missing for two days."

The more I heard about James Pearson, the more I wanted blood. My hands clenched into fists around the steering wheel, and I could feel my anger taking physical shape. Magic. It had to be magic, didn't it? I felt the same thing when I cast my invisibility spell. Instead of my concentration, I gathered my rage and shaped it into a weapon I wanted to lob at Pearson's head.

The radio shorted out, and Celine Dion cut off mid-warble. I pressed the buttons, trying to get it to work again.

"Damn it," I muttered. "That'll be an expensive repair."

"I don't mind," Mercy said, sliding back into her seat. "We can talk instead."

"About what?"

"About you. Did you finally shake your stalker?"

I laughed again. Harry Dresden, stalker extraordinaire? It didn't fit. I bet Harry beat the snot out of guys like that. But I'd fed Mercy a lie, and I was sticking to it. I didn't want to lose a friend, on top of everything else.

"Sort of." Actually, I was sure that Harry was still looking, when he had time. If my mom had been desperate enough to hire Harry to find me after only a month, she'd be frantic now. With a pang of guilt, I realized I hadn't actually thought about my family much since taking the job with Torelli, except when I contemplated how best to escape the man they'd sent after me.

Most books you could find readily available about magic in libraries didn't' give a clear consensus on what it was and was not possible to do with it. Most of it centered on Neo-Paganism, which was less than helpful. The best I'd been able to figure from what I knew is that to defeat Harry's spell, I had three options.

One, spend all my time over running water. I didn't exactly have enough money to buy a yacht to live in, so that was out. Two, I could get rid of whatever he was tracking which was, in all likelihood, my hair. Maybe it was vain, but I didn't want to shave myself bald. So that left me with option three. Stay out of range. I was on the road almost every day, working for Torelli. He treated it like a regular job, meaning I had two days off of my choice. Most of the time, I kept the weekends for myself, and I had nebulous plans to take a week off in future. I still needed a tutor, and Torelli had been no help finding a practitioner who could help me. If I asked anyone in Chicago proper for help it would get back to Harry eventually.

"So what do you want to visit first?" I asked, changing lanes carefully. Our exit would be coming up soon.

"The Arch," Mercy said, bouncing a little in her seat.

"The Saint Louis Arch it is."

Saint Louis was one of the bigger cities in Missouri, but it was nowhere near the size of Chicago. It was surprisingly easy to navigate in the city, despite the traffic. After months of driving in Chicago, I'd gotten over the road rage that would otherwise have seized me in Saint Louis.

In the 1800s, cities like Saint Louis, Kansas City, and Saint Joseph were the jumping off point before gallivanting off into the untamed frontier. Nowhere except New York had as much tonnage in the water. The lifeblood of waterfront towns such as this one was the shipping trade. So, when the railroad had wanted to expand west, they'd asked the politicians in Saint Louis for permission to build the railroad across the river. They'd been turned away. The decision had been a short-sighted one. The railroad turned its attention to Chicago instead, and my hometown had become the epicenter of trade and one of the fastest growing cities in the United States from that point on. Now, it ranked third in terms of population density. Saint Louis beat us only in the murder rate of its citizens. It usually bounced around in the top five.

It was because of that troubling statistic that I felt queasy about leaving Mercy alone. I felt oddly maternal where she was concerned. That was foolish, wasn't it? She was older than me. She'd suffered worse than I had. Maybe it was her cheerful demeanor that stripped away that objectivity. It seemed fundamentally wrong that someone so innocent should suffer.

It was beginning to rain when I arrived back at the Arch. The weather in the midwest seemed to seesaw from rainy and miserable, to humid and miserable. Either way, there hadn't been much in the way of pleasant weather since I'd started this crummy job. I waited outside of the car, the hood of my rain slicker pulled up over my head, for her to emerge. When she did, she was promptly soaked. I wished I had an umbrella to give her. Her curls were laying flat for once when she finally got in the car.

"The view from up there is gorgeous," she said, pointing skyward.

"I'm glad you like it," I said, glancing at the arch. It's surface reflected the stormy sky.

"I don't see how you saw anything," I said, studying the clouds intently. If the storms were too bad, I might stop in somewhere for awhile. I did not want to get in a wreck five hours from home with a friend in the passenger seat.

"I see a lot," Mercy said knowledgeably. "Like the fact that your passenger rear tire is going flat. You should take care of that when we get back."

I rounded the car to check. "Well I'll be darned, you're right."

"Course I am," she said, giving me a wink. "Now if you'll excuse me, I do have to get my homework done."

Mercy's mother had only one condition for our little outings. I had to take her somewhere educational, and she had to finish her homework before she got back. I wished my mother had been so lax with her rules. Because of my upbringing, I was used to living in an organized chaos, half-raising the youngest of my siblings. When Mom and Dad both embarked on a mission for God, I was boss-kid number one, deputy to Father Forthill.

"Need any help?" I asked, peering over at her books. She moved the biology textbook away from me with a grin.

"I'll work. You drive."

"Alright, alright. Yeesh. Let me know if you get stuck, okay?"

"I think I know a bit more about biology than you, Molly," she snorted.

"Only about dissecting frogs," I teased. "I know much more about the anatomy of human boys."

She laughed. "Oh yeah? Going to give me a blow by blow of your lessons with that Nelson guy?"

My cheeks heated and I ducked my head a little, defeated. "Nope. Just do your homework and maybe I'll buy you candy on the way back."

In response, she chucked a whopper wrapper at my head.

Rosanna slammed the door shut, breathing hard. I glanced up from my mug of hot chocolate in shock. Mercy, sitting across from me, looked equally nonplussed. She tossed her keys on top of the kitchen counter, nearly dislodging the pile of hospital bills. I'd been right. They'd piled up substantially in the months since the miscarriage. I'd tried to pay them off discreetly, but Rosanna flatly refused to take any cash I gave her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Drinking hot chocolate," I said, glancing pointedly down at my own glass. Rosanna's brows knit and she scowled at me.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

She kicked off her shoes and marched over to the table, taking the chair next to mine. She turned it backwards and folded her arms over the back of the chair, staring at me intently. Her nostrils were flared, and her dark eyes burned with anger. She was mad, no _furious._ At me. Why?

"I don't understand," I began. She silenced the rest of the statement with a glare.

"You do, Molly. Just tell me what you're doing, and I can help you."

"You're going to have to be more specific, Rose. I really don't have a clue. What are you talking about?"

She continued as if I hadn't spoken. "I know the signs, honey. You're out all hours. I checked for a Torelli's in the phone book. There's no such place. There's a Tony's pizza, and I checked there, thinking maybe you misheard. They've never even heard of you."

My insides tried to snake their way into my feet. She knew. Or she at least suspected. "It's not like that, Rose."

"Bull, Molly. I know it seems like fun at first, but you've gotta stop this. This has real world consequences." Her hand dropped to her stomach suddenly, and her expression twisted. "Just tell me what you're on. Is it Heroin? Cocaine? Meth?"

I stared. "I'm not on drugs, Rosanna! God, how can you even think that?"

"You've got all this money now, Molly. I didn't want to say anything at first. I mean, not to shame you or anything, but if you want to give it away for money and drugs, there are safer ways-"

My mouth popped open and my hands balled into fists at my sides. "I'm not a hooker, either, Rosanna! Is your opinion of me really that low?"

She threw her hands up. "I don't know what to think, Molly! You won't tell us the truth about where you're going or who you're with. I don't know if you're tweaking downstairs in the laundry room, or what. I just know I don't want to come home and find you've overdosed in the bathroom."

"That's rich!" It came out in a horrible, sneering tone. "Considering what I came home to find months ago, Rosanna!"

She physically recoiled from the venom in my tone, her grip on her stomach becoming tighter. Tears gathered in her eyes. I didn't stop glaring at her. I knew I hadn't been forthcoming in recent months, but I'd done my part hadn't I? I'd undertaken this whole stupid endeavor in a misguided attempt to help her. And this was the thanks I got? She was slinging ridiculous accusations at me, and in front of a guest no less.

"You have to admit you have a problem, Molly," Rosanna said. "It's the first step to getting help."

"I'm not an addict!" I gave up the fight and finally shouted at her. I was overcome by a violent urge to shove her to the floor and watch her crawl away from me with tears streaming down her face. "Projecting much, Rosie?"

"Then you're crazy," she snapped. "There's no other explanation. Everyone in the building has noticed. It's not just me. Ken, Mrs. Cook, the Robinsons, hell, even James Pearson noticed, and he's drunk ninety percent of the time."

"Noticed what?"

"You're talking to yourself Molly. And not the self-motivating kind. You're talking to people who aren't' there."

That brought me up short. "What?"

Rosanna leaned forward eagerly, pressing her advantage. My anger had evaporated as quickly as it had come, leaving me sailing in a sea of confusion.

"You're talking to yourself," she explained gently. "Mrs. Cook has heard you carry on complete, one-sided conversations. If you're using or you've snapped, you need help. You've been doing it here too for the last few weeks."

"I haven't…" I began. "I've never been alone in the apartment for the last few weeks."

Rosanna swallowed with difficulty, her eyes darting around the kitchen anxiously. They finally settled on the chair across from mine, and its occupant.

"Who do you think you're talking to, Molly?"

"Mercy Pearson, our downstairs neighbor. She's our age. I have her over all the time."

"Molly," Rosanna began in the slow, soothing tones I'd heard my father use on a spooked horse. "The Pearson's only have one kid. A son. And he's two."

For a moment, it felt like time ground to a stop. It felt like I was in the climax of _Harvest_ where the unwary nun turned her back, sure the Scarecrow was dead. For a moment, I was frozen, too horrified to do anything but stare open-mouthed at my roommate. I finally managed to crane my neck to look.

She was still there. Her cheerful facade had slid away, and for an instant I saw a cynical expression take its place. The blue eyes I'd come to trust held only cold calculation, and a bit of disappointment. Then, her lips quirked up in a smile of amusement. A smug little smirk that seemed to mock me. How stupid of me. How naive to think I'd escaped.

"Drat."


	7. Chapter Six: Dollhouse

"Don't be angry with me, Molly. I thought we were friends."

I nearly spat on the ground. I was back to square one. After my fight with Rosanna had reached a fever pitch, I'd been asked in no uncertain terms to leave. I'd thrown all of my things in a bag, cleaned the kitchen after both Ken and Rosanna left for work, and then cleared out the remainder of my savings paying off Rosanna's bills. I'd put the requested amount in every envelope, signed, stamped, and addressed them, and put them in the mail. I knew it was illegal, but these days, I couldn't find it in myself to care. Rosanna would be grateful when she didn't have debt hanging over her head.

I turned my glare on the Fallen. It felt good to have someone to blame for my misfortune. This whole thing was her fault. I wouldn't have been living in the apartment in the first place if not for her. I wouldn't have a reputation as the village crazy. I wouldn't be running drugs for Torelli, and I sure as hell wouldn't be homeless. Again.

"We are not friends," I snarled. "You've done this to me."

Mercy-I still called her that in my head, for lack of a name to give her-raised an eyebrow at me. Thankfully, she'd stopped playing the abuse victim with a heart of gold. Her hair was still the same mess of coppery, flyaway curls, but she'd swapped a Splatter Con T-shirt and jeans for a more angelic look. The white toga ended at her knees, and a pair of Roman-style sandals reached her mid-calf. She stared at me impassively.

"I have not pushed you to take any action, my host. It is your own choices that have brought you to this point."

"Bullshit!" I rounded on her. At her suggestion, I'd been holding my phone to my ear. In all the commotion, the poor thing had shorted out. I was getting to be as bad as Harry. "And stop calling me that! It's creepy. Do you have to remind me at every turn that you're a parasitic spirit bent on my eternal damnation?"

She let out a pealing laugh. I reminded myself that she could alter my perception. She was probably manipulating my thoughts so it sounded charming. "You don't mince your words, do you? And for the record, I am symbiotic, not parasitic, my host."

"Symbiotes give something back," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes at her. "From where I'm sitting all you've done is take."

"On the contrary, my host, I have helped you a great deal."

"How?"

"You pleaded for help, and I bolstered your stuttering veil. I have been blocking the wizard's attempts to track you since the day at the library. Why do you think he has not come looking for you when you are home? It has been long enough that your hair may have lost efficacy, but he still has connections to you through your blood. Your mother and father would spill their own to see you back home, you know."

I stared. "You mean...you've been putting a jamming field around me?"

I flashed back to days in front of the TV when I was a kid. Mom had gone on a Star Trek bender and I'd gotten very familiar with the Original Series especially. I pictured a shimmering gold barrier around my head, keeping Harry from getting a lock on me.

She laughed again. "It's not that complicated, my host. You read those books. You should have a firm grasp on thaumaturgy by now."

"You've put a circle around me, somehow," I muttered. "He can't get a lock, because for all intents and purposes I'm not there."

"Precisely."

"How are you doing that?"

The Fallen gave me a vaguely condescending smirk. "She could explain it far better than I could. Why don't you ask her?"

"Not a chance," I snorted. "And you can do better than that, Mercy. That wasn't subtle at all."

I had been relieved to discover that at least I was not a captive yet. The thing that had been masquerading as a friend and helpless victim was just the shadow of the Fallen, not the actual being. As she'd explained it, even the Fallen were bound to certain rules. God had given humanity free will. They could tempt, cajole, and blackmail us, but they could not take our free will away. As long as I didn't consent, the shadow couldn't press gang me into the Knights of the Blackened Denarius.

That didn't mean it couldn't hurt me. I'd heard horror stories. Humans tormented into surrender. Though the torture took place only in the mind, the illusion was so real that it drove many insane. Only a few, like Nicodemus Archleone, were free agents, acting in tandem with their Fallen.

"I would not do that to you," Mercy murmured, staring at the house across the street. I'd been parked on the curb outside Mr. Huber's house for some time, waiting for the kindly man to come home. I hadn't been sure where else to go. The homeless shelters were out. No way in hell was I going to see Father Forthill at Saint Mary's. I was pretty sure I'd burst into flame the moment I got close to a priest.

The Fallen snorted. "Don't be so melodramatic. You can still visit holy sites."

"So you want to go to mass, huh?"

She made a face. "I'd rather not. But I cannot stop you if you choose to go."

I put my head in my hands and groaned. "I just want you to go away."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," she said serenely.

"Why the hell not?"

She sighed. "No matter what you call it, parasitism, or symbiosis, I still require a host to live. I am a thinking, sapient being just like you. Even if it were physically possible for me to leave, I wouldn't. Can you say that in my place, you would act differently?"

I squirmed. I didn't want to try to put myself in the Fallen's headspace. I was sure that was a bad idea. When she put it that way, though, it sounded logical. I shook my head. It was the shadow of a fallen freaking angel. I couldn't trust a word it said.

The Fallen continued on, as if she hadn't heard the reluctant thoughts creeping through my head. "You have no idea what it is like, my host, to be trapped the way we are. It is much like stasis. Locked, unable to move. Only we are aware of every second. It is slightly more bearable to be in the hands of our fellows. I would trade a decade of living in the pocket of one of my comrades than the same amount of time in a Tibetan Monastery. The recitations become quite dull, after a while."

"You can hear?" I repeated incredulously.

"Much like you can, my host. It's hardly ever anything useful."

I hugged my knees tighter to my chest and set my chin on them. It was stupid to feel pity for this thing. "So what if you're bored? At least you aren't out killing things. I've seen what your kind is capable of. I was in Naples when Polonius Lartessa and her cadre of Denarians tried to reignite Vesuvius."

It was one of the few times I'd been allowed to go along. It had been a snap decision. An urgent memo from the big guy upstairs, apparently. I'd been placed in the care of Father Antonio Russo, and had spent most of the visit in a hotel overlooking the gulf, or in the Duomo di San Gennaro, praying for my father. I'd gotten my first glimpse of the Fallen in the hotel room while mother and father were out fighting. The thing that I'd later learned to be Tessa, had scuttled forward on prehensile limbs. It's exoskeleton was so dark it seemed to absorb the light in the room. I'd been crouched in the bathtub, trying to to make a sound as it turned the room over in a frantic search. My father hadn't had the coins it had been looking for. After it was through, I'd called an ambulance for Father Russo, who'd lay gutted on the floor.

I'd had vivid nightmares about the greyish intestines poking out of his shirt. I don't know how he managed to survive. I'd been leaning most of my body weight on his wound. I'd only been eight, and there wasn't much strength in my upper body. With one hand I'd dialed the emergency number on the phone and burbled out my request in broken spanish. I was young enough that it had seemed a good idea at the time. Italian was not the same as Spanish, though there was an eighty-two percent overlap. The operator knew what I was trying to ask, and after I'd rattled off the hotel's address the operator had promised me help in thickly accented English.

I still got a card from Father Russo every once in awhile. He wasn't going to run any marathons, and he'd always have scar tissue, but he was alive.

"I am not Lartessa or Imariel," the Fallen said with a sniff of disapproval. "Nor have I ever followed her lead."

"Then who are you?"

"I am Lasciel," she said.

The word seemed to shiver in the air for a moment, after she'd spoken it aloud. Harry had once said that names have power. If you had something's name, its true name, you could control it. The tone and inflection of Lasciel's true name had an enormous amount of power behind it. Every hair on my body stood on end for a second and I had to rub my arms to erase the feeling of ants crawling over my flesh.

"Lasciel, huh?" I said, trying not to admit that my body's reaction to her pronouncement scared me. "I thought it would be something dramatic like Belphegor. Or Satan."

The shadow rolled its eyes. "You really are fond of theatrics, aren't you? Of course I am not Lucifer, child."

"Could have fooled me," I muttered. "What with all the lying you've been up to. Isn't he supposed to be the father of lies?"

"I am a woman," Lasciel said, eyes narrowed.

"You're a genderless being made of energy and spite," I retorted. "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. You've been deceiving me this whole time. This could be a ploy to win me over. You can appear as anything."

She tapped her chin. "That is true. Do you truly think I took this form to torment you? I wanted to get to know you. Speaking with the others can tell me only so much. The core of who you are? That, I cannot touch without your permission."

"Others?" I asked. What, had I picked up another just like her? That was a scary thought. I thought there was only one per coin.

"It's fascinating really. Most of my hosts were not so sophisticated as you. They rarely personified even their Id or Superego. There are many of you here. I like to call them the council of Molly."

I glowered at her. "Your clever Lord of the Rings references do not sway me, Lasciel."

She laughed again, another peal of bells and gave me a sly smile. "You enjoy the company more than you are willing to admit."

She was a lying liar that lied out of her lying liar hole. But she was right about one thing. I was starved for friendly conversation. I felt more comfortable on the curb, talking to a fallen angel than I had for the last few weeks at Rosanna's apartment.

Mr. Huber pulled up at a quarter to six. He drove a VW Bug, a detail I hadn't noticed before in my moral panic. The sight of it made me smile. It looked like it might have been a cousin to Harry's once upon a time. It was in much better shape than the Blue Beetle, and wasn't composed of a patchwork of old parts and appeared to be all one color. The toffee-colored paint job was nice, and looked like it had been waxed recently. Mr. Huber stepped out, clutching a camera bag under one arm and a tripod in the other. He paused when he caught sight of me on his curb.

"Molly?" He asked, turning to face me. The lamplight caught his bald patch as he did so.

"Catherine," I corrected him with a sad smile. "And yeah, it's me."

"Right, right. Catherine." He took a few steps closer. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Lenhardt?"

My cheeks flamed with color and embarrassment swept through me. What was I doing? I wasn't a charity case. I had a freaking Fallen angel on my side. I could find myself a place to sleep tonight, surely.

Mr. Huber seemed to sense my reluctance and gave me a weary smile of his own. "Why don't you come inside? I can make you a cup of coffee. Or tea, if you prefer. It's been a scorcher, hasn't it?"

"Do you have Coke?" I asked hopefully. I hadn't gotten my caffeine fix today, and my body was making its displeasure known.

"Sure."

I followed him inside, and the lingering sense of shame accompanied me. He was humoring me because he thought of me as a kid. He pitied me. And I was going to let him.

Mr. Huber held the door open for me and then jogged past me, disappearing into the back room. I wandered through the house, studying his photography once more. Had that been what he'd been up to today?

When Mr. Huber returned he'd changed into a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He fished a beer out of the fridge for himself, and a Coke for me. He slid it across the table and I cracked it open. Lasciel made a sound of distaste to my right, and I grinned a little as I chugged the rest of it. She probably wanted something more sophisticated, like fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Lasciel snorted in amusement but said nothing.

"What's happened, Catherine?" Mr. Huber said. "I assume you weren't camped out in front of my house for the hell of it."

"I got kicked out of my apartment," I admitted sheepishly. "I was living with friends and we had a falling out. You seem like the sort of man who'd know where I could go."

"I'm sorry to hear about that. You're welcome to stay here, until you're back on your feet."

"That's not necessary-" I began.

"It is," he insisted. "You don't strike me as the sort of person who likes taking charity, Catherine. You don't have the money to stay in a hotel, am I right?"

"Yes," I admitted glumly. "I used the last of what Torelli gave me to pay off bills."

"That was generous of you, considering the fact they were kicking you out."

"I don't like leaving debts unsettled," I muttered.

"Which is precisely why I trust you under my roof, for tonight, at least."

I frowned down at my empty Coke can. "I'll be out of your hair by morning."

"Let's say by the end of the week," Mr. Huber suggested. "By then you should be able to afford a hostel, at the very least. Why don't we go into my lab and see if we can find an apartment complex in your price range, eh?"

I couldn't argue with him. I'd thought about living out of my car, but it was a tricky thing to do. You never knew who owned what lot, and the owners could have you arrested for trespassing if you stayed on their property after hours. If I got dragged into custody, it wouldn't take long for the police to connect my face to the missing person report my parents had no doubt filed.

"Sure."

I followed him into the lab and, again, lingered in the doorway. This man was extending his hospitality to me. I didn't want to wreck his expensive equipment. Mr. Huber didn't seem to notice. He minimized a few photos quickly, but not before I got a chance to get a good look at them. The first appeared to be a pair of bullet casings, the second a bloodstain the size of a basketball, and the third was a gun.

"Is that an MP5?" I asked, leaning closer in spite of myself.

He swiveled slightly in his chair to look at me. "It is. How do you know that?"

I shrugged. "I know a lot about guns."

At least, I knew a lot about the illegal ones. Those were the sort of guns that were pointed at my dad and the other knights on a regular basis. And, of course, they owned guns too. I knew Sanya prefered an AK-47. He'd purchased that one legally, or so I'd been told. I wasn't sure about Sanya. I'd met him over the years, and liked him to a certain extent. But he hadn't ever spoken to me much, and with my very own fallen angel tailing me wherever I went, it was probably not a good idea to run into him any time soon.

"Where did you get these photos?" I asked, curious in spite of myself.

"This is my day job kiddo. I'm not just a forger. I'm a crime scene photographer. I work with the CPD and I'm in a prime position to make sure that some evidence never sees the light of day."

Ah, that would explain his importance to Marcone. It also explained why Torelli didn't push Mr. Huber around. Aside from having more balls than Torelli, Mr. Huber was in a prime position to turn him into Marcone or the cops. I suddenly envied him that power. I'd give just about anything to get Torelli off my back.

"If you allow me to, I can make sure he never resurfaces again, my host," Lasciel whispered into my ear, each word dripping with seductive charm. I shivered.

 _No._ I thought back viciously. _I'm not killing anyone. Not even Torelli._

If Mr. Huber noticed my preoccupation, he didn't comment on it. After about ten minutes of searching, he printed out a list of apartments and highlighted their prices and the crime statistics in their neighborhoods. Then he handed the stack of pages to me.

"I noticed you're not that comfortable around technology," he explained. "Which is a little odd, but to each their own. My sons almost never surface from social media, and panic if they don't have their phones."

It was as good an explanation as any, I supposed. I couldn't tell him that I was a budding witch with powers that were deadly to anything developed past the mid-twentieth century. "I'm old-fashioned, I guess."

I ended up in the guest bedroom. It wasn't too dissimilar from Daniel's room back home, though it was cleaner. I could tell it had once belonged to one of his sons. The bedspread was a dark brown, the shelves were full of books, and the top of the bookcase was lined with trophies. The walls had been plastered with posters of Sports Illustrated models. The lamp on the writing desk shone a weak, faltering light on the room.

After changing into my sleepshirt and a pair of shorts, I burrowed under the covers. Despite the fact that I'd chugged a coke only an hour before, I was incredibly tired. The alarm clock reported that it was only seven-thirty. I chuckled weakly. Did this mean I was getting older?

I looked over the apartments. Most of them were expensive, but they looked better than the one I'd shared with Ken and Rosanna. With the money I now made, i could afford the rent on one if I was careful. My ID identified me as a nineteen year old, and as such I could sign a lease.

I resolved to take a look at one tomorrow after I'd finished my route for Torelli. And after I was through with this week, I'd do something nice for Mr. Huber. He'd been very kind to me.

"No one is ever kind without expecting something in return, my host," Lasciel chimed in from beside me.

"He is getting something in return," I said. "The best camera accessory I can find. Now pipe down Lash, I'm trying to sleep."

She raised one brow at me. "Lash?"

I shrugged and snuggled into the down pillow. "Yeah, got a problem with that?"

"I suppose not. It's a bit unorthodox, is all."

"Goodnight, Lash," I said in a tone that brokered no argument. Lash stroked my cheek and then my hair in a move that was oddly reminiscent of my mother. Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.

Lash pressed her phantom lips to forehead in a parody of a loving kiss. "Goodnight, Molly."

I liked this place.

The lobby of the building had contained a wall of P.O. Boxes, and an elevator that led up six floors. The vacancy I was interested in was on the third floor. I liked that too. If I had to make a break for it, the fall out the third story window would hurt, but wouldn't necessarily kill me. Immediately after having that thought, I'd grimaced. What had my life come to, that this was a serious consideration to be had about a rental property?

Lasciel's shadow had laughed at the observation, and applauded me for it. Which made me dislike that I'd thought it all the more.

The halls were painted a pleasant creme color, and the carpet was a plush brown that gave easily beneath our feet. I'd bet they were a bitch to vacuum. I'd done my share of cleaning, and the softer the carpet, the more easily footsteps could be seen in it. I'd hate to be a member of the custodial staff. The doors were spaced equidistantly from each other, and bore peeling gold stickers that bore their number. I was bound for apartment 45, at the very end of the hall, nearest the stairs. That was also a perk. In case of a fire, I could avoid the slow elevator like the plague.

I paused mid-step as we passed room 40. I sensed rather than saw the energy that clung to it. It was hard to define, and judging from her lack of reaction, the landlady didn't feel it.

"A ward," Lasciel muttered. "How interesting."

"A what?" I asked.

"A ward, my host. A magical construction built on a threshold. It is designed to keep unwanted visitors out, and protect the occupant of the home. I would wager it isn't strong enough to kill. This building is a sort of community, rather than an individual's home, so the threshold will lack vitality. And the caster does not appear to have your strength."

"I can only turn myself invisible," I muttered. "I certainly can't do this."

"Let me teach you, my host," she said. "I can show you magics you cannot imagine."

"I'll pass," I muttered. And so I did, leaving the net of delicate magic behind me. Half of me wanted to knock on the door, and see who was inside. I'd never met someone like myself outside of Harry Dresden. Maybe they could teach me a few tricks.

Apartment 45 was bare. I should have expected that, I supposed. I'd have to buy or steal myself a sleeping bag for the time being. I'd be able to afford a mattress next week if I actually signed the lease. The landlady talked at great length about how safe and clean the place was. She told me when to expect exterminators, if I moved in, and when rent was due every month. I nodded and responded where appropriate, my mind still on the occupant of apartment 40.

Who were they? How powerful were they really? And most of all, could they help me get this damn thing out of my head?

I ended up moving in, and over the course of a month, I made enough money to furnish the place. I threw myself on the bedspread, a grin stretching my lips. It wasn't much, but it was all mine. The bed was a twin, small by anyone's standards, but better than sleeping on the floor. I had two pillows, a comforter, and a lamp. I had an ugly discount couch in the living room, a bookshelf and a TV that had sputtered its last a week after I'd bought it.

I'd never bothered getting myself anything more than basic silverware. It had become apparent at Rosanna's that I was an abysmal cook. I didn't want to burn down the whole apartment in my attempts to feed myself. The freezer was full of Lean Cuisine, vegetable steamers, and other healthy foods. I'd decided to lay off of the fast food except on the route I ran for Torelli, and as a result had dropped a few pounds during the last few weeks. The apartment even had a gym downstairs. Rosanna and Kent's building hadn't been this nice.

I tried not to think about them, mostly. I wasn't sure how well my last action would be received. Had she forgiven me yet, or was my name still remembered with a scowl and a shake of the head? Should it matter so much to me, either way?

"No," Lasciel said, intruding on my thoughts. "She was a drug-addled simpleton and a poor excuse for a friend."

"She was my friend though," I said, grinding my teeth. "So don't go knocking her Lash. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh? You seemed quite happy only a moment ago."

"Because I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "For the first time in forever I feel like I'm actually doing something."

"Yes," she mused. "Running drugs for Torelli, exercising, and decorating this small domicile. It sounds very fulfilling."

The mocking tone cut through my defenses and I abruptly felt foolish. I had a job that I hated, my only hobby was running on a stupid treadmill, and purchasing things to put in my apartment. My mind conjured a picture of a little girl, decorating her dollhouse, arranging everything just so. I rolled away from her, biting my lip to contain an acidic retort.

She was right. I wasn't doing much good in the world, was I?

"Take up the coin," Lasciel coaxed. "I would not ask you to do anything against your conscience, I swear that to you."

I wiped the angry tears from my eyes. "Bullshit."

"We are not so different, you and I. We both want the same thing."

"And what is that? World domination? No thanks, I gave up on that ambition when I was four. I think I moved onto Archbishop of Canterbury next."

Lasciel blew out a frustrated breath. "No, my host. We want to make a change in the world. One for the better. There is often pain in change. It does not last."

"Save it for someone who cares, Lash," I muttered. "I'm going out for food."

"The noise curfew started at ten, Molly," Lasciel informed me. "I'd advise against it. You don't want Mrs. Peterson to call the front desk again, do you?"

"Oh bite me."

She was right of course, and I knew it. But it was her fault that I was in such a bad mood, so I didn't feel like being charitable.

The nearest Burger King was a mile away, which took no time at all in a car. But since I was trying to be sneaky about it, I'd gone out under a veil, snuck past the lone security guard who was dozing beneath a newspaper, and gone on foot. Summer was winding down. Was it July now, or August? I found it hard to keep track. The weeks seemed to blur together when you had to work day in, day out. It was still warm enough to wear only a jacket out.

An hour later I was walking back home, clutching a sack that contained a Whopper, a large fry, and an oreo shake. I peered at the receipt the bored looking cashier had handed me. The date was printed on the top, next to my order number. Well, damn. I'd missed my own birthday. How had that happened?

I was officially fifteen years old, as of two weeks ago. I suddenly felt justified in my purchase. Happy belated birthday to me.

Things were much the same as they had been when I'd left. The guard's newspaper had slipped a little, and the funnies were coated in a layer of drool. The stairs creaked as I made my way back up to the third floor. No building could be perfect, and it was the only flaw I'd seen in the otherwise immaculate place.

I let myself settle into the visible spectrum when I stopped in front of my door, reaching distractedly for my keys. I didn't notice the woman standing in the hall until it was too late.

She stared at me, and I stared at her. She was shorter than I was, and couldn't have been an inch over average height. What was that now, 5'4? She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a darker complexion than I did. She looked like she might have some Native American blood in her ancestry, at least a few generations back.

What did I say? The excuses popped into my mind at once. It was late, and she was tired. I'd come up the stairs and she just hadn't seen me. She was dreaming. I was an aspiring magician, pulling a disappearing act. The last one was a little too close to the truth.

Finally she opened her mouth and spoke. "That was impressive."

"What?" I asked, my voice a touch too innocent. Damn it, I'd need to learn to lie better.

"Your veil. I assume you held it all the way into the building and up the stairs. That's at least five minutes. It was very thorough too."

It was only then I noticed that the woman was in a bathrobe and standing directly outside of apartment 40. This was the mysterious magical occupant I'd been agonizing over for weeks.

After several false starts I managed to speak. "T-Thanks. I think."

"Have you been practicing long?"

I shook my head. "It started in April."

The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's quite a talent, if you're holding a veil that long as a total novice."

I bristled at the term. "I'd like to go in and eat my burger, if you don't mind."

The woman gave me a smile, and her eyes crinkled a little. I reevaluated her age and put her somewhere in her early forties. It was a nice smile, though. It filled her eyes and made me want to trust her.

"You can eat in my kitchen, if you like." She took a step back from her door and gestured for me to follow her in. "I'm Anna Ash, by the way. Why don't you come in? We have a lot to discuss, you and I."


	8. Chapter Seven: The Ordo Lebes

My fries were cold and mushy by the time that I settled in Anna Ash's kitchen. It was my own fault really, for walking instead of driving. The burger was still good, and I took a bite of it as Anna settled into the chair opposite me.

"What's your name?"

"Catherine," I said, almost automatically. That name was more familiar to me now than my own. Strange that I'd become more accustomed to using it than Molly. With a pang, I realized that there was no one in my life who knew me, who really, truly knew me and used my name any longer.

"I still use your name, my host," Lasciel whispered. I swatted at her, as though she were an irksome fly, forgetting for a moment that she was non-corporal and that it accomplished absolutely nothing. For once, she seemed to understand what I wanted, and she disappeared from my sight, leaving behind her only a vague impression of smugness.

Fortunately, Anna Ash had busied herself heating her own leftovers. Apparently, I wasn't the only one up for a midnight snack. I gathered up a spoonful of Oreo shake and popped it in my mouth when Anna Ash returned with reheated Chinese food.

"So, Catherine, you've only been showing signs of magical ability for the last few months? How old are you?"

"Nineteen," I lied. I was doing a lot of that these days. I'd always thought of myself as a fundamentally honest person. Was this something that I'd always been capable of, or something that Lasciel was pushing me toward? Or pushing _them_ toward, I should say. It was sometimes hard to fall asleep, thinking about what all she could be whispering to my subconscious while I was out. Every thought, every action was cast into doubt.

"It's a little late to be manifesting power, but not totally out of the question," Anna said, twirling Lo Mein around her fork.

"When should I have started manifesting it?"

"It varies." Anna shrugged. "For some, it can start as early as their preeteens. In others, they don't manifest even a minor talent until they hit twenty. The median age is fourteen or fifteen. Don't fret. Your ability is strong, from what I can tell."

I was right on the money then. Fourteen on the dot. Or was I? Had Lasciel given my magic a slight push? Without her intervention, would I have been able to accomplish all that I had? I took another chunk out of my burger to avoid speaking. I didn't trust my voice.

Anna continued on, apparently pleased that I was speaking to her. I hadn't said a word as she'd escorted me into her kitchen. "But even so, there are some things you should know, Catherine. I assume you're still in the dark about the goings on in the community. Do you even know what the White Council is?"

"No. Should I?" It sounded like something Lasciel should have informed me of. I had a sneaking suspicion she'd left that detail out for a reason.

Anna nodded gravely. "The White Council is a group of powerful wizards. They're the benchmark we're all measured against."

I wasn't sure how exactly I knew, but I could tell that fact disappointed Anna Ash. I wasn't sure why. She had magic, after all. That was more than a lot of people had. More than I'd ever expected to have. I still wasn't sure that it wasn't an ill-gotten gain from Lasciel.

"She's a hedge wizard," Lasciel sniffed.

I'd gotten used to responding to her aloud. I had my mouth half open before I realized that asking the question aloud would not be a good idea, and might be potentially offensive to Anna Ash.

"What's a hedge wizard?" I hissed to Lasciel, thinking it as loudly as I could. I still wasn't sure exactly how this connection worked, or how she seemed to know what I was thinking ninety percent of the time. Did that mean I was predictable, or that Lasciel had fixed herself in the center of my brain like an evil satellite?

"It's a term that's used to describe lesser practitioners. She'll never be white council material, and she knows it."

"But she has magic," I thought back.

"She has only enough power to be aware of the world, but not powerful enough to stop the threats she sees. Imagine being sent into battle with only a piddling little steak knife to defend yourself. Yes, its better than nothing, but wouldn't you rather have a sword?"

"Point."

I stuffed the burger in my half opened mouth and took another huge bite to avoid speaking to her. Anna Ash sighed and continued on as if I hadn't been staring at her like an open-mouthed idiot.

"The Senior Council is composed of seven members. They're a ruling body, of sorts. They make decisions and new ones are appointed when older members pass on. They control the wardens."

"Wardens?"

"Police, in a sense. They hunt down and bring in warlocks."

I was beginning to feel like a complete ignoramus, but I had to ask. "What's a warlock?"

Anna Ash smiled at me, as though I were a child. I didn't think she meant it to be patronizing, but it came off that way all the same. I bit off another chunk of burger. There wasn't enough burger left to restrain a waspish retort for long.

"I forget sometimes these things aren't common knowledge. I've been in the community for twenty-five years. A warlock is someone who violates one of the laws of magic. The wardens are dispatched to bring them to justice."

"Why?" I said through a mouthful of burger, well aware I was being rude, but not able to find it in myself to care. I swallowed and wiped my mouth free of ketchup. "I mean, they didn't know any better, most of them, right? Most justice systems would give them a slap on the wrist. Is there a supernatural equivalent to community service?"

Anna's face hardened, and she shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. Warlocks are usually brought in and summarily executed. Sometimes without trial. And that's only if they aren't killed resisting arrest."

My grip loosened around my last bite of burger and it tumbled onto the wrapper pathetically. "What? You mean they just...they just kill kids like me if we break the rules? Even if we do it without knowing?"

"The White Council is foolish," Lasciel's whisper was full of scorn. "So much wasted potential…"

"You have to understand, Catherine," Anna said gently. "It sounds harsh, but it really is for their own good."

"How?" I snapped. "How the hell is that done for someone's own good? I mean, they made a mistake! It wasn't like they were trying to hurt anyone!"

My heart hammered against my ribcage and my stomach clenched. Blood pounded furiously behind my ears. It made absolutely no sense. The last time I could remember being this upset about the injustice of it all, I'd been ten, and I'd gone on a furious tirade against Sister Mary. What did she mean, everyone who hadn't accepted God went to hell? What about undiscovered people? What about people who had no knowledge? Why were they punished for ignorance?

My anger swelled and an almost electric buzz ran along my skin. Kids. Innocent kids, executed. Sometimes without a trial. My fingers twitched with the need to hit something. I wanted to scream at Anna Ash, even though it wasn't her fault.

Then the lightbulb above our heads erupted in a shower of sparks. Bits of glass rained down on us and the room was plunged into sudden darkness.

"Oh God," I panted. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's alright," Anna's voice was surprisingly calm, despite the fact I'd just blown out her light. "I've got a few candles underneath the sink. Stay put, and I'll get them."

"Do you have a broom? I can clean this up. I'm really sorry."

"It happens, Catherine. Calm down."

I sat in my chair, awash in guilt and residual anger. Of course what the White Council was doing wasn't right, but that didn't mean I needed to take it out on Anna Ash's apartment.

I watched her bustle about the apartment, placing fat candles at regular intervals, using a butane lighter to light each one. I remembered that Harry could do that with just a spell, and wondered if I might possibly be able to do the same.

Almost at once Lash was at my ear, offering possible incantations. I could see how easy the process would be in my head. It didn't even take a strong effort to do, light the veils I so routinely cast. I shook my head and tried to ignore her. I knew the knowledge would not come free. I couldn't get in the habit of relying on the Fallen.

When Anna Ash had finished, the apartment was lit by soft, flickering amber light. She gave me a rueful smile. "I'm not technically supposed to have them. It's in the lease, but I keep them around anyways. They're useful in ritual magic, and I rarely have anyone in my house powerful enough to require their use."

"Sorry," I muttered again.

"As I was saying," Anna continued, pointedly ignoring the apology. "The White Council rarely has a choice in such matters. Black magic is addictive, and mind-altering when used too much. Eventually it will compromise the user's judgement and lead to all host of evils. Sometimes children who are not taught will become dangers to themselves and others."

My ire began to rise again, but not at Anna Ash. _That_ was why Lasciel had not warned me about the dangers of magic or the White Council's justice. She'd be searching for anything to gain a stronger foothold in my mind. Of course she wouldn't warn me. Why would she, when she could get me hooked on the gateway drug to evil?

"What are the rules?" I asked, new resolve creeping into my tone. I wasn't giving in and taking up that coin. I had to be hypervigilant if I was going to keep Lasciel from seducing me into it. The best way to fight her was by destroying my own ignorance.

"There are seven laws," Anna said, as if reciting a familiar story. "Not that lesser practitioners of the art such as myself have much of a chance to break them, even if we wanted to. Most members of the Ordo simply do not have the magical staying power."

"What are the laws?"

Anna began ticking down on her fingers. "First law. Thou shalt not kill. This forbids any wizard or practitioner from using magic to kill. Fairly straightforward. If you are forced to defend yourself, do not do so with magic if you can help it. If you kill, you will be brought before the council whether that was your intent or not. Thou shalt not transform others, second law. Also straightforward. It's difficult magic to accomplish anyways, so no one does it. You may transform yourself, but you cannot do it against the will of another. Thou shalt not invade the mind of another, third law. This one is fairly common, and the mistake most budding practitioners make. Invading the mind of another is harmful, in and of itself. The mind is a sacred place, and an indelicate hand can cause irreparable damage, even by accident. The fourth law goes hand in hand with the third. Thou shalt not enthrall another. You _can_ make someone do your bidding by magic, but it will usually leave the mind so damaged the person is good for little else when you are through."

I flinched. "Who would do that?"

Anna Ash cocked her head. "Can you think of no reason? The road to hell is often paved with good intentions. I heard a story about a young man who enthralled his father to stop drinking. The abuse he'd suffered since he was nine stopped, and his parents salvaged their marriage. But the damage done to the father's mind gave him severe psychological issues that he will never completely escape. Not to mention the trauma the family suffered when the boy was executed."

I shuddered. I could only too easily picture myself doing the same. Would I have eventually tried it, if I were still living with Rosanna? It seemed so harmless put in that context. Weren't you just doing good?

"Thou shalt not reach past the borders of life, the fifth law. It forbids the practice of necromancy on human beings. The sixth law, thou shalt not swim against the currents of time, forbids mucking with time. The ramifications of such a thing would be too catastrophic to predict. And the seventh, thou shalt not open the outer gates, forbids the summoning of outsiders."

"Outsiders?"

For the first time since I'd met her, Anna Ash seemed frightened. Even under the warm glow of the candlelight she seemed to pale. "I don't know much about them, but we do know they're abominations. They exist outside the outer gate, and they are bent on the destruction of our world. They're evil, and hard to kill. Countless die every time one is summoned."

An image appeared before my eyes in sharp, painful detail. The creature was unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was stooped, ugly, and moved in an ungainly fashion. Regardless of that, it was fast. Too fast. I heard Lasciel's familiar voice, but it was not speaking to me. It was in the distant, echoing timbre of memory.

 _Hellfire,_ she urged the frail, crone-like woman she inhabited. _Summon hellfire! Do it now Lenore!_

The thing came at them both with a feral roar, and an inhuman glint in its eyes. The memory ended with the crunch of bone and the horrifying sensation of teeth crushing her windpipe. Then Lasciel was spiraling downward, back into darkness and spinning away from the limp hand of Lenore, not seeing or hearing her host's grisly demise.

I squeezed my eyes tight shut. Anger that was not mine surged hot and fast through my body. Lasciel _hated_ outsiders. My hands itched to do violence. The tang of metal flooded my mouth as I fought not to issue a bellow of rage and fling myself at the nearest threat.

"Calm your ass down," I hissed to Lasciel. "Do you want me to look crazy?"

"They are monsters," Lasciel insisted. Funny, that appellation coming from a creature whose whole purpose was to bring about the damnation of souls and the eventual end of the world.

"Are you alright?" Anna's hand covered mine momentarily, and she didn't seem that offended when I yanked it back. Raw as I was, I could feel a rush of concern that was not my own, or even Lasciel's. It took us both a minute to realize what we'd felt.

"Ah, so you're a sensitive," Lasciel mused, finally calming.

"A what?"

"I'll explain it later," Lasciel said, settling in the back of my mind. I could almost see her primly smoothing her skirt. "I believe you should answer Miss Ash."

"Fine," I said, taking a deep breath, answering them both. "I'll be fine. I'm just tired, I think. Would it be rude for me to dine and dash?"

"Not at all," Anna Ash said, and gave me a tentative smile. "I've kept you too long. You probably have work in the morning, and I'd hate to keep you from getting sleep."

Actually, I went to work whenever I damn well felt like it these days. As long as I checked in with Torelli and got the shipments in on the days they were expected, people mostly left me alone. But I nodded wearily, taking the easy out.

Anna walked me to the door and hesitated before she opened it for me. "I don't mean to push, but I think you could benefit from some magical training. It might help you channel your power, so you don't end up popping light bulbs. I'm sure you've been hell on the technology you've come into contact with."

"I've destroyed a television, a radio, and I have to use the manual treadmill or elliptical downstairs. I toasted the one in the corner."

Anna gave a weak chuckle. "I doubt it will come out of your deposit. I'm hosting the next meeting of the Ordo Lebes, a small circle of practitioners, on Saturday. Would you be interested in joining us?"

I barely had to think about it. "Yes, of course."

Anna smiled and opened the door for me. "That's wonderful. We meet at noon. I'll see you there. Goodnight, Miss Lenhardt."

"Goodnight, Miss Ash."

"Please, call me Anna," she insisted as I passed harmlessly through the ward that guarded her doorway.

"Alright then. Goodnight Anna."

"Do you really think that Cheetos is an appropriate offering when joining a group of hedge wizards?" Lasciel sniffed as I walked the few short feet down the hall to Anna Ash's door.

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of frogspawn, Lash. I'll be sure to stop at ye olde apothecary next time."

I knocked on the door and stood back to let Anna Ash open the door for me. It was my understanding that once I'd been given an invitation to enter a place, I could go in without fear of compromising my magic. However, Anna Ash had a ward guarding her door and I didn't want to find out what it did just yet. Lash had been trying to tell me how to dismantle it all morning.

"You really should enter with more grandeur," Lash reasoned. "You're more powerful than any of the attending practitioners. Why not make an impression?"

"Because it would be rude? And I'm pretty sure breaking and entering is still a crime. I'd rather not get arrested."

Anna Ash came to the door wearing a conservative blouse, a pair of faded blue jeans, and a smile. Her hair had been pulled away from her face by a plain black headband that blended almost seamlessly with her hair.

"Ah, Catherine, I'm so glad you could make it. Come in."

I stepped through, and the ward rippled over me harmlessly. To my growing magical perception the construct seemed like a wall made of legos. Undoubtedly hard, but it was brittle and full of cracks. Lash sniffed and said something about shoddy craftsmanship as we entered the kitchen. I saw to my delight that I was not the only one who thought junk food was an appropriate offering to bring to a meeting of practitioners. There were several two liters full of soda, assorted chips, and a tray laden with hot dogs. The only effort anyone had made to make the meal healthy was a bowl full of assorted fruit. I piled my plate high with food, preparing the hot dog New York style-blasphemy, I know-and followed Anna into her living room.

There were about twelve women total, eating off of TV trays, or on the floor. A small Yorkie was sniffing around hopefully for food.

"Toto, come back here," a plump middle-aged woman chided. I noted the medical bracelet on her wrist. Was he her service dog? Weren't they supposed to behave better than that?

The dog came trotting back to the woman, who picked him up. She turned to face me with a smile.

"Oh hello. It's nice to meet you, Miss Lenhardt."

I paused, frowning at her. "How did you-?"

"Know your name? Oh dear, I did it again didn't I?" The woman let out a nervous chuckle.

"It's alright, Abby," Anna said, smoothing a hand over the woman's shoulder. "Catherine, this is Abby. She's prescient."

"Impressive." I could almost feel Lasciel lean forward in interest.

"What does it mean?"

"Limited future sight. It's why she seems so off to you, I suppose. I doubt it is more than a second or two, but she's seeing possible futures before they happen."

"Why only a second or two?"

"Do you not understand the complexities of what can happen in just sixty seconds? Every second is a crossroads of likely outcomes, and if you could see every single one of them, you'd go mad."

When it was put that way, it made me a little dizzy to think about it. I'd be paralyzed by indecision. Which was the right future? Did I destroy one future by choosing another? Did I have any right to do that?

"It's nice to meet you too," Abby said, beaming at me even as I opened my mouth to speak. She paused, frowned. "Oh dear. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I assured her, squeezing past her into the room beyond.

I took a seat next to an athletic looking woman who wore only a purple leotard and athletic shorts. She looked Indian, and her long sleek hair had been pulled back into a tight bun. Her brown eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled at me. I thought she might only be a few years older than I was.

"Everyone, this is my neighbor and our newest visitor, Catherine Lenhardt," Anna said, introducing me to the room at large.

I waved at everyone, a little embarrassed that I'd chosen that moment to stuff the first bite of hot dog into my mouth. The girl next to me chuckled in hearty amusement at my plight. It reminded me of something Amanda or Daniel would have done. I had a sudden, unexpected pang of homesickness. What were the Jawas up to now? Saturdays were a hub of activity at the Carpenter house. Well, just about everyday was eventful when there were seven kids in the house, all of them at different ages and with different hobbies. With the summer winding down, I thought that the little ones might be getting their fill of the sprinklers before the weather shifted and it became too cold.

Anna grinned at me. "Since she's a little busy, I'll make the introductions. Catherine, you've already met Abby."

Abby waved heartily at me a few moments before Anna stopped speaking. In spite of myself, I couldn't help but smile back before I took another bite of hot dog. Abby, despite being a little scatterbrained, seemed nice and looked like someone's favorite grandma.

"This is Maria," she pointed out a short woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. "And beside her is Janine." The woman she pointed to looked like a librarian. She wore a pencil skirt, a fitted blouse, and wore thick glasses. Her eyes were warm behind them, though.

The next to be introduced was a woman named Pauline, who I learned worked a temp job for the time being. Their names blended together in my head, and I knew I'd need longer than a few hours to sort them all out. The girl sitting beside me was named Olivia, and she was a gymnast by trade. She offered me a firm handshake when she was introduced.

"Anna tells us you're a wizard," she said, eyes bright.

"I'm not," I said. "At least, I don't think so."

"Wizard-level power, if I'm reading her right," Anna corrected. "But she's not officially vetted by the White Council, Olivia. So she's a practitioner just like us."

It didn't seem to curb Olivia's enthusiasm. I felt my cheeks heat. Was I the subject of gossip among these people? I lowered my eyes to my plate and shoveled chips into my mouth to keep from answering my curious neighbor.

"So, um, what do you people do?" I asked when the heat in my cheeks died down.

"Usually when the Ordo meets, it's to perform large spells," Anna explained. "None of us are powerful enough to do it alone. "The wards on my apartment have been constructed on every apartment or home where it is feasible. We could also perform one on your apartment, if you'd like."

I didn't need Lasciel's snort of derision to determine my answer. "No thank you."

"If you insist. But today we're meeting to teach you the basics of magic. I know you can construct veils, which is a magic beyond most of us. So I doubt it will take you long to learn the rest."

I wasn't sure I had Anna's confidence. Making myself less visible seemed easy in comparison to some of the things that Harry could do. According to Lash, I'd never be throwing around fireballs or hurling people across a room with a gust of wind. I didn't have the magical stamina for it. Of course, I wasn't sure I could trust her assessment of my abilities, because she followed it up immediately by telling me that all those things _could_ be possible if bolstered by hellfire, a gift I'd get from the true Lasciel if I summoned the coin.

Anna sat cross-legged on her own floor. Somehow I thought better of her for it. It was her house, and she could have forced any one of the other women to vacate their seat. Instead, she sat across from me and spread out a towel on the floor.

"Have you ever used a circle of power?" Anna asked.

I shook my head. "Nope. What does it do?"

"It keeps magical energies in or out, depending on what you need. For example, if you cast a circle, you can contain your own magic until the time it needs to be released. Or, if you are under attack from a creature from the nevernever, the circle would keep you safe from the creatures attack or influence."

"The what?" I asked. I was really beginning to feel like a massive dolt. Why hadn't I heard of any of this stuff before? My father was a Knight of the Cross. He'd dealt with all sorts of creepy-crawlies and things that went bump in the night. Shouldn't I be more aware of what was going on in the world?

"The nevernever," Anna said. "It's a world that exists alongside ours. The spirit world, most would call it, though ghosts and the like are not the only creatures that exists inside it. Opening a doorway into the nevernever is beyond my abilities, and not something I'd advise anyway. Too dangerous."

Lasciel was being oddly silent during my lessons. She'd been a little churlish about the Ordo since I'd met Anna Ash, insisting that she could teach me things that Miss Ash was not capable of. She hadn't liked my rebuttal. Anna Ash was not going to demand something in return for her knowledge, limited though it may have been.

I nodded slowly. "Okay. So, a circle of power is a barrier between me and the world. Got it. How do you do it?"

Anna Ash produced a large carton of salt and offered it to me. "You can make a circle out of just about anything. Most advise chalk, since it's easy to carry around and to smudge when you need to. However, since we're inside and I'll have to be cleaning up later, salt it is."

I took the carton from her and stood on the dark green towel she'd spread out on the floor. "So what am I aiming to do?"

"Nothing, at this point. I'd like you to practice gathering your will, and releasing it for the time being."

She flicked the lights off as an afterthought and gave me a sheepish smile. "Just in case. I've unplugged all unnecessary electronics."

The candles that had been set at odd intervals seemed much brighter in the ensuing darkness. I turned in a slow circle, letting the salt form a thin circle around me. When I was finished, I set it down at my feet. I felt foolish with all their eyes on me. What were they expecting me to do?

"Stop that," Lash chided me gently. "Your magic is contingent on your belief, in part. If you believe that you cannot do it, it will not happen."

"How am I supposed to believe that I'm a wizard, or practitioner, or whatever? This could all be a line you're feeding me!"

Lash sighed, and she was suddenly standing before me. She looked even more beautiful in the amber glow of the candles, if such a thing was possible. She grasped my chin in one dainty hand and forced me to look into her eyes. They were steely blue, and so hard that it made me want to avert my gaze.

"I have given you nothing but the strength you lacked in the moment. Your abilities are entirely your own. I would like to hone them, and augment them where I can, but I cannot produce something from nothing, Molly. Your magic is real, and I cannot take it from you."

I wanted to believe her. Ever since discovering I had the ability, I'd been hoping that it was legitimate. Some part of me still harbored a schoolgirl fantasy that perhaps one day I'd get the chance to learn from Harry. It was an impossibility with Lasciel in my head.

"You can do this," Lasciel said, releasing my chin.

I took an unsteady breath. "I can do this."

The power was there, when I reached for it. It was surprisingly easy to draw out of myself. I brought it forth, a crude, amorphous shape. In the darkness, the light that danced between my palms looked like a sparkler from the fourth of july. I smiled, in spite of myself.

"Now, release the power," Anna said.

I broke the circle and released the power in a rush of energy. To my surprise, the candles guttered violently, and papers stirred on the end tables. The closest woman to me, Pauline, had her hair ruffled by the wind that rushed out from me.

Anna clapped her hands. "Good, good! That was an excellent first attempt."

"Uncontrolled, though," Pauline said disapprovingly. "That would have fried everything in the apartment if you hadn't had the foresight to turn things off. She needs to localize it."

Anna gave the woman a stern look. "None of us were perfect when we began. It was contained to this room, and that's already an improvement."

By the time I left hours later, I probably weighed three extra pounds. Despite eating my fill, I was exhausted by everything that I'd been taught. I learned basic thaumaturgic ritual, how to use a focus, and the basic practices that the Ordo observed. Some of it was nonsensical, according to Lasciel. Wiccan practice had very little to do with actual magic. It was more of a crutch for the lesser of the practitioners. If you believed that the ritual helped, it would.

I was sent home with a book, gifted to me by Anna Ash. _Elementary Magic_ by Ebenezer McCoy. Or, magic for dummies, as Lash put it.

"Sorry to put you on the spot," Anna said, half-supporting me down the hall as the rest of her guests filtered out of the apartment, chatting animatedly. They were planning an outing to McAnally's pub, and as the only one still under legal drinking age, I was not going.

"It's fine," I said. "That was the point, right? To teach me things."

Anna smiled sadly. "I'm afraid that we won't be able to keep up with you for long. I'd suggest finding a wizard to take you on as an apprentice when that day comes. I think you have the makings of a true wizard."

I hugged her on impulse. I hadn't heard sincere compliments in so long this relatively minor one had my eyes brimming with tears. Anna Ash hesitated but after a moment her arms wound around me in a gentle embrace. I buried my face in her shoulder, trying to hide the tears, and wishing that I didn't want my mom.

"Thank you," I sniffled. "For everything."

Anna released me and wiped away my tears in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. "What are these for?"

"I'm just happy, is all," I lied. The truth was, I was sure this as was far as my magical education was ever going to go. The only wizard I'd ever heard of in the Chicago area was Harry Dresden, and that was out of the question, because of the coin. How could one bad decision screw up my life so badly?

"You're very welcome," Anna said, as I fumbled for my keys. "And you're always welcome to come over when I'm home, Catherine. If you ever need to talk."

"Sure," I said, knowing that I'd never take her up on her offer. There were too many secrets I had to keep. My monsters were too scary and strong to unleash on Anna Ash. So I offered her a smile.

"Thank you for the food," I said, and stepped inside my apartment, closing the door on the well-intentioned woman I could never trust.


End file.
